


we climb the knife edge with the voices of the dead

by agentx13 (rebelle_elle)



Category: Marvel
Genre: Friday the 13th - Freeform, Gen, Horror Tropes, but nothing explicit, hints of relationships, sharon carter day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-13
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-01-17 00:18:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12353517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelle_elle/pseuds/agentx13
Summary: It seems almost too good to be true. An all-expenses paid trip to Italy, and all they have to do is participate in a sleep study. It turns out the sleep study is on an abandoned island, with no way to leave and no way to contact the outside world. There are signs that all is not as it seems, but it's also too late to back out. And then, bodies start to appear...Having all the answers might not be enough to make it out alive...





	1. Chapter 1

Sharon blew her hair out of her face and moved the box of bedding materials another couple feet to the side. “There,” she said, satisfied. She stepped into the open space and took an experimental step, then lifted her arms.

“If this weren’t so ridiculous,” Hawley said, “I’d say you have a right to feel accomplished.”

Sharon gave her a tired grin. Her back ached, she couldn’t feel her feet anymore, her scrubs were damp with sweat, but the supply closet was finally organized and - dare she say it - _spacious._ It was finally a good place to crash when all the beds were full. And not just because she’d made a point of leaving a cot against the wall. “Not knowing where things were was slowing us down. Don’t worry. I didn’t do it on the clock.”

“In which case, you shouldn’t have done it at all,” Hawley said, not entirely unkindly. She sighed and glanced at her clipboard and took off a sheet, handing it over to Sharon. “I know money is tight for you,” she said, clearly uncomfortable. “And I can’t give you any more hours this month. But if you think you would be interested in doing that, I’ll give you a recommendation and change your hours so you could go. It would be, essentially, a paid vacation.”

Sharon scanned the print-out. “A sleep study?”

Hawley shrugged. “Which means you’ll have to sleep. Which you need. And it’s out of the country. I thought you would like that. And it’s in Italy. So you can stay a week after, see some sights.”

“Italy,” Sharon repeated. She’d always wanted to go to Italy. Really, at this point, anything that wasn’t her hometown seemed thrilling. And Italy was... definitely not her hometown.

Hawley reached over and tapped the page. “Read it. Apply.”

Sharon stared at the page without seeing it. Instead, she was imagining the warm air of Italy, the rich food, the ancient buildings and ruins that American buildings simply couldn’t hold a candle to.

But she had other considerations. Slowly, she folded the paper, her face falling.

Anticipating her, Hawley said, “We’ll visit your aunt for you. It won’t be the same, but maybe we can find a way for her to skype with you. It’s only two weeks, Sharon. You need a vacation.”

She bit her lip. She _did_ need a vacation, but she didn’t want to abandon her aunt. Sharon was all Peggy had left- even Peggy’s brain was going. Sharon was balancing a full-time job and trying to get money wherever she could in order to make ends meet. Nursing homes weren’t cheap.

She thought again of the sleep study. She’d have to ask what they paid, if they paid for everything or if she’d lose money on the passport and travel. “Only if I get in,” she said.

* * *

The waves were choppy, but Sharon couldn’t have cared less. The air was warm, and it smelled different than the air in Virginia. Was it possible for air to smell welcoming? Because to her, it smelled welcoming. The sun was shining, the water was blue...

She opened her mouth to call to the driver - pilot? Captain? Boat driver? - but the words died in her throat. He was gruff, and she wasn’t even certain he knew any English. He’d held the sign with her name on it at the airport, put her things in the car, then in the boat, and the entire time hadn’t even met her eyes, much less responded to anything she’d said.

She fiddled with her phone some more in time to see another bar disappear on her phone. She’d figured that the island would have a spotty connection - if it had wifi or cell service at all - and had called the hospital when she landed to let them know she was there. She’d also called Peggy, who was apparently having a good day. Peggy had remembered that Sharon was going to Italy and seemed happy for her.

Speaking of Peggy...

Sharon stowed her phone and pulled out her camera instead. It was an older digital model, but it had served her faithfully through the years. She snapped a few pictures of the retreating Italian shore, then a few of the driver and beyond before tucking the camera away again.

After an hour or so, she was tempted to ask when they’d get there, but the driver’s surliness kept her silent. Two more bars disappeared from her phone. The driver still didn’t speak, nor did he turn around.

She wasn’t sure at first if the island on the horizon was the one they were headed to, even as it loomed larger and larger, the stone cliffs rising nearly straight upward. She could see a tower at the top, but any other buildings were obscured by the angle.

As the boat rounded the island, she could see a small dock and a perilous stone stairway carved into the rock, zig-zagging all the way to the top, and her chest tightened as she saw that the only thing separating climbers was a single metal railing.

The man docked the boat, grabbed her suitcase, and got off, still not looking at her. She grabbed her messenger bag and hastened after him, stepping carefully so she didn’t slip on the damp stone. Sharon had always prided herself on being in shape, but her legs were started to burn by the end of the first flight, were on fire by the end of the second, and by the end of the third, when she finally reached the top, she felt like she might die.

Unable to help herself, she cried out, “Land! Oh, thank God!” She fell to her knees.

Roused by laughter, she opened her eyes. At first, she thought she’d made the driver laugh, but no, there was someone else there, someone who was, fortunately, making eye contact. He was black, his hair cut short, his muscular physique outlined by his T-shirt. His stance was relaxed, his face friendly.

“I did almost the same thing,” he said, offering a hand. “Only with more crying.”

She accepted the offer, grunting as she stood again. “I’m glad I’m not the only one.” Checking to make sure the driver was out of earshot, she said, “And I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear another voice.”

“ _Right?_ I talked the whole way here. Over an hour and a half. I couldn’t get a word out of him. Sam Wilson, by the way.”

“Sharon Carter.”

He turned to walk with her as she followed the driver. Now that she could see the rest of the plateau, she blinked. There were three buildings of various sizes, made of brick and concrete. Only one - the building on the right, the smallest one - looked habitable. The building across from it was half torn down, and the largest building, the one beween them, looked as if it were on the verge of collapse. A tower stretched high overhead. Sharon was surprised that the weight of her gaze didn’t cause it to fall. “Whoa.”

“Again, pretty much my exact reaction.” Sam followed her eyes. “Great background for a sleep study, huh?”

She grinned. “I don’t know. After that plane ride, I think I’m going to sleep like a baby.”

“Me, too, but when I sleep like a baby, I wake up crying in the middle of the night. Come on. Let me give you a tour, since our host isn’t in a sharing mood.”

Over the next several hours, the two explored the island. It turned out Sam hadn’t been around long enough to explore much on his own. The driver left, coming back with two more men, a pair of best friends from New York named Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. Sharon and Sam took them on the tour and chatted with them about how wonderful Italy was; none of them mentioned the silent, empty buildings around them. The next time the driver came back, he brought a man and woman with him. Sharon stared at the man when he first arrived, almost forgetting to look at the woman with him.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s me. Want an autograph?” Tony Stark asked.

She shook her head, unable to form any sentences. Was he the one who had put together the sleep study?

“Don’t stare at me like that when I’m sleeping,” he said as he walked away, and she wasn’t entirely sure he was teasing.

“He’s an asshole,” the woman with him said. She had a bag slung over her shoulder and brilliant red hair. There was no way this woman would ever be overlooked in a crowd. She gave Sharon a brief smile, and Sharon gave one in return.

“You know him?”

“I was trapped on the boat with him and somebody who apparently doesn’t talk,” she said. “I know him more than I want to. Kind of wanted to drown him.”

“That’s Tony Stark,” Sharon said, still awestruck. “He’s, like, the richest guy in the world.”

“And I’m Natasha Romanoff,” she said, as if neither Tony’s name nor his wealth meant anything to her. “And I suggest keeping your distance. Otherwise, he’ll hit on you until _you_ want to drown him, too.”

Sharon shrugged. “Would be easier to push him off the cliff. Those stairs were killer.” Realizing how that sounded, she shook her head. “Sorry. Hi, Natasha. I’m Sharon. Sharon Carter.” She pointed toward the others. “And that’s Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers, and Bucky Barnes.”

As the others came over to say hello, they all froze as the driver headed back to the boat. The man didn’t look up, nor did he speak to anyone.

“That guy’s kind of creepy,” Steve noted.

“So long as I’m not rooming with him, I think I’ll survive,” Bucky said quickly, his eyes intent on Natasha. “Hi. I’m James.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “I heard you were Bucky.”

Bucky glanced at Sharon as if she had betrayed him. She looked from him to Steve to Natasha, unable to hide her faint confusion. Was his name not Bucky? “Bucky is a childhood nickname. My real name is James.”

“James Buchanon Barnes,” Steve added. “The sexiest name there- _oomf._ ”

Bucky pulled his elbow out of Steve’s gut and held out his hand. “Nice to meet you... Miss...”

“Romanoff. Married.”

“Ah. Understood.” Bucky’s stance changed slightly, relaxing more, becoming slightly more aloof. “Want a tour while we wait for our host to come back?”

“We’re practically experts by now,” Sam joined in. “This’ll be the third tour we’ve given.”

Sharon grinned at Natasha. “Besides how we don’t know anything about the island except for the don’t-fall-off part. Want to put your stuff down first?”

“You’re still carrying your stuff,” Natasha said with a shrug. “But sure. I’m up for a tour. Can’t wait to see the inside of that nice little death trap over there...” She pointed toward the largest building, the tower’s shadow creeping toward them.

“Should we get Stark?” Steve suggested. “Give him a tour, too?”

“No,” Natasha said, her voice firm. She started walking past them, leaving Sharon and Steve looking at each other. He quickly looked away, and Sharon bit the inside of her lip and followed after Natasha. “Stark’s a creep. Let’s go alone.”

* * *

The sun was starting to set, when the boat again appeared on the horizon. It didn’t look like it would reach them in the next couple of minutes, though, and the evening wind had enough of a chill to it that the small group took shelter in the only habitable building on the island. It looked as if it had been meant as a hotel or resort, though judging by the plywood covering some windows and doors, it was still a work in progress. But it had furnishings and electricity, and as such, everyone but Stark gathered around a seating area in the common area.

“Any bets on who it is?” Natasha asked, lounging in one of the plush chairs.

Sharon zipped up her hoodie. “No bets. I’m starting to think this is some Stanford Prison Experiment scenario.”

Natasha’s focus was suddenly on her. “It can’t be that,” she said, her voice droll. “If women had been involved in that, it would have had a completely different outcome.”

“Yeah,” Stark said from the couch on the other side of the room, facing away from them so he could have the fireplace on that end of the room all to himself, “it would have been worse.”

Natasha glared at him but said nothing.

“Whoever it is,” Steve said, his voice calm, “we’ll find out soon. They just headed toward the stairway.”

Sharon looked around. “Is it weird that I feel like we should clean the place up before they get here?”

Everyone turned to look at her; even Stark took the trouble to raise his head over the back of his couch.

“Okay,” she said, uncomfortable.

“You a maid back home?” Bucky said, sounding faintly teasing. “Because if you are, I suggest you take this as a vacation.”

She shook her head. “Nurse.” Amongst other things. “Just general stuff. But it helps to have things clean and orderly, you know? So you can find them in a hurry if you need them.”

“It’s just a sleep study,” Sam reminded her. “I doubt we’ll need medical attention.”

“I thought you were a photographer,” Steve said, a hitch to his voice. He cleared his throat as Bucky gave him a sideways glance, but Steve only muttered, “Because of the camera.”

Sharon grinned softly. “It’s for my aunt. I promised I’d take lots of pictures for her. I mean, I like photography anyway, but I swear I’m not, like, taking pictures of everything because I want to memorialize the creepy place next door.”

“Sounds like something somebody who wants to memorize Stephen King’s vacation home would say,” Stark said.

Steve rubbed the back of his head. “I like to paint,” he muttered, barely audible.

“Body like that, and you like to _paint?_ ” Sam said, incredulous.

Steve and Bucky both grinned at him.

“Stevie was sick a lot growing up,” Bucky explained. “He’s a fucking health nut now.”

“What about you?” Natasha asked him as conversation threatened to lull. “What do you do?”

“Army. Just wrapped up my third tour.”

Sam snorted. “Air Force.”

“I _knew_ I didn’t like you,” Bucky said cheerfully.

“Likewise,” Sam grinned back.

Bucky nodded to Natasha. “What about you?”

“Ballerina.”

Bucky blinked. “Really?”

Natasha grinned, slow and cat-like. “Want me to prove it with some moves?”

Bucky grinned back. “I wouldn’t say no.”

Steve groaned and dropped his head in his hands. “Buck...”

Natasha and Bucky grinned at each other more widely.

“Pretty sure everyone knows who I am,” Stark said. “You’re welcome.”

“For what?” Natasha demanded.

“You know what,” Stark replied, though it answered nothing.

The others looked at each other and shook their heads. Without addressing why, they each fell into quiet conversation in twos and threes, too quietly to be heard across the room. Out of the corner of her eye, Sharon saw Stark’s head pop up as he watched them, then disappear out of sight again.

It seemed to be hours before the doors opening, ushering in the driver and two others. The man was tall and black, one eyepatch hiding his left eye. He wore black from head to toe, possibly to help hide a hint of paunch beneath his trenchcoat. The woman behind him was lean, dressed in navy blue, her black hair tied back in a tight, unforgiving ponytail. She carried a messenger bag slung over her shoulder, far more expensive than Sharon’s own.

The driver disappeared with their bags.

“I’m glad you all made it,” the man said. “I’m Dr. Nick Fury. Sorry I’m late. Every connecting flight I had experienced some sort of trouble, or else I’d have been here to welcome you instead of the other way around. This is my assistant, Ms. Hill. I take it you’ve all gotten to know each other.”

They all nodded, none of them able to hide their curiosity.

“Good. I’ll try to get the basics out of the way. I work for MediCore. You’ve heard of it.” Sharon glanced at the others to see that they all nodded. “Every so often, we do a control group for our sleep studies. You’re that control group. All you have to do is hang out. You’ll each be given a journal. Write down what you eat, when you sleep, if and when you wake up in the night, things like that. We also ask that you keep track of any exercise you do.”

Ms. Hill moved quietly around the room, handing each person a moderately-sized leather-bound journal and a pen.

Bucky held his up. “There’s a lock?”

Dr. Fury inclined his head. “Some people have privacy concerns.”

Stark scoffed from the other side of the couch. It didn’t take a genius to realize that his journal would be locked tightly, and maybe written in code.

“We’ll be alone on the island. There’s no wifi, no Internet, so I hope you’re all easily amused. There’s a ham radio in my office in case of an emergency. Ms. Hill and I will be here for any questions, and the kitchen should be fully stocked.”

“What about the bar?” Stark asked.

“That, too.”

“Uh, if you don’t mind me asking, Dr. Fury,” Steve said, leaning forward, “why do the sleep study _here?_

Dr. Fury smiled. “It wouldn’t have been my first choice, either. I would have been happy with some place out in the woods. Unfortunately, all those places were taken. MediCore bought this island a couple years ago to fix up the hospital and have a hotel nearby. The idea was to have a spa sort of facility, but the contract fell through, and we’re stuck with a quiet place to stay and a... misadventure next door.”

“Hospital?” Sharon echoed.

He nodded. “That’s right. You’re a nurse back in the States, aren’t you?”

She nodded. 

“I don’t know if any of you noticed, but what we’re currently on is part of a dead volcano. It was hollowed out centuries ago, and some monks built a monastery here. After they left, the monastery was used as a hospital for plague victims. But the place is damn hard to get to, so no one’s used it very long for anything. Only reason we’re using it for the study is because we’re only here for a week. So we’ve got food for a week, we’ve got enough gas to keep the place going for a week...” He shrugged. “I won’t lie, I’ll be glad to see the end of this place, too.”

“Italy’s nice, though,” Sharon offered.

“This isn’t really Italy,” Natasha said softly, sounding amused. “You’re thinking of civilization and wine and pasta. This place...”

The sentence hung heavy in the air.

“Oh, come on,” Sharon said. “Because of the run-down hospital next door?” Everyone looked at her as if she were insane. “All hospitals are creepy when they’re empty and quiet,” she continued. “Same with schools. It’s your mind playing tricks on you. You’re used to them being full and loud, so when they’re not, you think they’re creepy. It’s no big deal.”

“To you, maybe,” Sam muttered. When Sharon looked at him, he grinned and shrugged. “I’m a scaredy-cat.”

“I’m not too thrilled with it, either,” Bucky offered. 

Steve shrugged.

Natasha leaned toward Sharon. “It looks like we’re the only ones with balls,” she said in a stage-whisper.

That got a hint of a smile out of Ms. Hill, though no one else seemed to appreciate it.

“Any questions?” Dr. Fury asked.

“So...” Sharon glanced at the others. “So we won’t be able to take any trips to the mainland? At all?”

He shook his head. “Control group means controlled environment. This is the only tourist attraction you get until we’re done.”

She tried to hide her disappointment. She must have done a fairly bad job, though, because Bucky said, “Hey, if you want, Stevie and I will play cards with you. Natasha? Sam? You in?”

Stark stood and stretched. “Well. If you don’t mind, _I’m_ going to hit the hay. See you kids in the morning.”

The rest of them offered half-hearted good nights, with Dr. Fury reminding Stark to write down when he went to bed. Stark waved the journal behind him without looking.

Steve looked to Dr. Fury and Ms. Hill. “Would you like to join us?” he asked politely.

“Thanks, but I’ve been sitting for the better part of two days now,” Dr. Fury said. “I’ve got to lie down and get some sleep like a human being.” Though she said nothing, Ms. Hill followed after him.

“Remember to write it down!” Bucky called after them cheerfully.

“Say what you damn well please,” Sam said grimly, “this place gives me the creeps.”

* * *

Hours later, Sharon turned on the lights in her room and smothered a yawn. Playing cards with the others had been fun, but all of them were jet-lagged. She wondered how that would impact the study.

Sam was right about something being off, at least. She didn’t know what Dr. Fury was up to, but she didn’t think he was being honest with them.

She brushed her teeth and washed her face before turning off the lights. A thin slit of silver showed through the curtains, and, wanting to see the moonlight on the Italian countryside - even if it was technically a piece of an inactive volcano - she pulled open the curtains.

The world on the outside was silver and dark, velvety blue, the shadows full of the promise of the unknown. She took a deep breath. The place might be weird, sure, but she was a world away from home, and everything was new and amazing. She considered what it would be like to leave the curtains open and let the brightness of an Italian dawn wake her.

And then, movement.

She went still, then leaned slowly toward the glass. Someone was in the hospital. But no, surely not. Dr. Fury, Ms. Hill, and Stark had all gone to bed hours ago, and Steve, Natasha, Sam, and Bucky had gone to bed at the same time she had.

A shadow moved across the window. A darkness moving against darkness.

She stood frozen, waiting for the person to move into the light, waiting for confirmation. Neither happened.

Just her mind playing tricks, she thought, uncomfortable. Or maybe one of the others had gone out to explore.

Without telling anyone else. Without a flashlight.

Right.

She closed the curtains tightly and crawled beneath the covers. She barely had time to note the time and write it down before she fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CRAP! I forgot to post this yesterday and almost forgot to post it today! In my defense, I have a cold, but I'm still incredibly sorry, y'all! Hope the delay wasn't too bad!

Sharon would have to wait another day to find out what sunrise in Italy looked like. By the time she woke, the sun was peeking through her curtains. She lay in bed for several minutes, feeling more tired and refreshed. She shouldn’t be so tired, even with the jetlag.

Weary, she got up, got ready, and stuck her head in the hall. Coffee, she thought. A cup or two of coffee, and she would feel vaguely human.

She found the others in the kitchen. Steve and Sam were cheerful, making pancakes and debating which kinds on pancakes were best, with Steve insisting on whole grain and Sam insisting Steve was a heathen.

“Sam’s right,” Bucky groused. “You put that crap in my pancake, Steve, I’ll kill you.” He and Natasha sat together at a table, watching Steve and Sam work and looking miserable.

“Morning person, huh?” Natasha asked.

“I’m not even a person until lunchtime.”

Stark sat off alone, and after a moment, Sharon joined him. “Did anybody go out last night? To the hospital building?”

They all turned to look at her curiously. “Why?” Steve asked. “Also, how do you like your pancakes?”

“Without grain,” she said slowly, choosing what she hoped was the best way not to offend his healthy sensibilities. “And nothing.”

“Odd thing to ask about nothing,” Stark said. “Maybe Fury or that woman with him went over. Where are they, anyway?”

“Probably still asleep,” Bucky said. “Like sensible people.”

Natasha’s voice was warm. “And yet, here you are.”

He looked at her for a second too long, then cleared his throat. “Coffee,” he muttered. He stood and poured some for himself and Natasha, then got Sharon a cup and poured her and Stark some.

“It _is_ weird they’re not up yet, though,” Natasha said. “I mean, this _is_ their sleep study.”

“Let’s go check on them, then.” Stark drank half his cup right then and there. “It isn’t right that we should be awake and stuck here doing nothing while they sleep in.”

“Do we even know where their rooms are?” Sam asked, sprinkling sugar on the pancakes despite Steve’s good-natured tsk-ing.

They looked at each other.

“How about we look for them after breakfast?” Steve suggested. “They could be out in just a minute. It’s not _that_ late.”

“It’s past ten.”

Sharon’s eyes widened. “What time did you all get up?”

“Barely slept,” Bucky groused. The others didn’t look as if they had better nights; even Steve and Sam didn’t offer up any comment about how well they’d slept.

“Weird,” Sharon muttered.

Stark looked at her, and though his eyes narrowed, he said nothing. 

Steve set a plate full of pancakes in front of her. “Even made it with sugar.” His voice was quiet, almost nervous, and he wouldn’t meet her eyes. He turned to Stark to distribute more pancakes and left before she could say another word.

Stark hummed the familiar “K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” and Sharon considered kicking him under the table. Instead, she ignored him and ate.

They ate until they were full, chit-chatting as the sun moved across the floor. It wasn’t until Bucky caught Sam looking at the clock that he said, “ _Now_ should we go look for them?”

“Sure.” Sam didn’t sound as cheerful as he had before. It seemed the longer he sat, the more tired he got. “You got any idea how, genius?”

Bucky glared at him.

“Teams,” Steve said quickly, before Bucky and Sam’s tempers could escalate. “We’ll split into teams and search different areas. It’s not a big hotel. It shouldn’t take long.”

Sharon straightened. “I think we should search the hospital, too.”

They all looked at her again.

Uncomfortable with the attention, her shoulders hunched inward. “I- I thought I saw someone in there last night. It could have just been a trick of the light, but if it wasn’t...”

“If they went in there for some reason and got hurt,” Sam said slowly, “then they might need help.” He looked at her sideways. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I don’t think they went in there,” she said, starting to feel defensive. “I can’t imagine- I’m not even sure I saw anything. If someone _was_ in there, they didn’t have a flashlight. Who would go in there without a flashlight? I’m just thinking that if we don’t find them in the hotel, then... I don’t know. Sleepwalking?”

“We’ll search it just to be safe,” Steve offered. “Teams, then. Bucky, Natasha, why don’t you two take the second floor.” He looked at the air beside Sharon, then at Stark, then at Sam. “Uh, Sam. Why don’t you and I check the hospital. Sharon, Stark. You two take the first floor. We meet back here after we’re done.”

Bucky and Natasha barely looked at each other before getting up, and despite Natasha’s protest the night before that she was married, she seemed to walk a little closer to Bucky than Bucky seemed comfortable with.

Sam and Steve hung around a couple minutes longer, picking up Bucky and Natasha’s dishes and putting them in the sink, and then they, too, quietly left.

“Well, Nurse Ratched,” Stark said, grimly cheerful, “Looks like it’s two of us.”

* * *

The door opened to reveal a room exactly like so many others, and Natasha and Bucky looked at each other before stepping inside.

“This would have been a shitty place to open a hotel,” Bucky said, looking at the wall art of a ship in a storm.

“I could see if it someone wanted it as a private island resort,” Natasha said slowly. “Except for the part where there’s no beach access, no resort aspects, and a hospital hellhole right next door.”

“But think of the rate you could get.” His tone was sardonic. He led the way to the next room down the line. Like the others they had checked, it was unlocked. There was very little furniture inside, all of it coated with dust. “What the fuck is with the art?”

“Hmm?” Natasha stepped into the room and turned around.

Bucky pointed at the painting on the wall. “The room we were just in had a ship during a storm. This one has- whatever the fuck that is.”

Natasha moved to stand beside him and tilted her head. The painting was a portrait, only there was something wrong with the face. There was too much hint of teeth beneath the skin, and the eyes were sunken and lightless. To make it even more disconcerting, there were faint hands reaching out from behind the figure as if to grab it. “Maybe it’s part of the sleep study?” she suggested, uncertain. “Or maybe whoever chose the art used the place next door as inspiration.”

Bucky didn’t look convinced. “If we’re part of the control group... I don’t know. I haven’t done a sleep study before, but I would have thought that making things _normal_ would be a big part of it, you know?”

“Yeah.” She looked at him for several seconds, then slid her hand into his. “Let’s keep look-”

He pulled his hand back as if burned. “Look,” he said quickly, licking his lips. “Normally? I’d be all for it. But I don’t mess with married women.”

“How noble,” she teased, moving closer.

He glared at her hard enough that she stepped back. “I think you’re great. And whoever you’re with? I’m sure he’s a lucky guy. But if you keep this up, we’re splitting up.”

“What are you going to do?” She smiled. “Push me out a window?”

His expression turned sour. “I don’t think it’ll come to that. Let’s keep looking.”

“And keep your hands inside the vehicle at all times,” Natasha teased.

He glared at her for several seconds before striding out of the room.

Behind him, Natasha silently fanned herself, grinned at the macabre painting, and followed him out.

* * *

“You gotta admit, man, this is weird.” Sam picked his way carefully over debris. Inside, the hospital looked like he imagined any abandoned building would - horribly dusty, and like a recipe for tetanus.

“A sleep study in Italy is weird,” Steve agreed. “A sleep study in Italy on an island with no way off and an abandoned hospital, being weird? That’s absurd.” He turned on the flashlight he’d found in the kitchen and frowned. “That’s weird.”

“The abandoned hospital on top of the hopefully-dormant volcano?” Sam joked.

Steve shook his head. “The drag marks.”

Sam dropped any pretense of joviality. He turned on his flashlight and trained it where Steve’s was. Slowly, training the flashlight a little farther ahead, he asked, “Is that... blood?”

The two looked at each other wordless, and then quietly started walking forward.

* * *

“You _can_ just call me Sharon,” Sharon said for the fifth time. They’d already searched most of the first floor. With its open floor plan for the majority of it, it had been fairly simple. But there were smaller rooms - some bedrooms, some offices, some storage closets - and Stark insisted on going through everything. They were currently in the back of the hotel in the laundry room, exploring in a circle rather than the single line that she was sure Natasha and Bucky had gotten. Hell, she was sure almost all the others were done searching their assigned areas; with the sun setting behind the edge of the cliff against the belltower, dusk was already beginning to fall. This wasn’t the sunny Italy vacation she’d envisioned.

“I like Nurse Ratched more,” Stark said. “Besides. I can see what you’re thinking.”

“ _Can_ you,” she said, her tone still patient despite her irritation. Some of the tricks she’d learned as a nurse were unexpectedly becoming useful.

“You think of me as a billionaire. You’re being nice to me because I’m rich.” He stopped to go through a linen closet, and she stopped to wait on him. It had occurred to her several times that she could go on alone, but there was something about this place that set her on edge. “I can tell. You’re poor, and you’re in awe of me.”

She suppressed the urge to glare at him. “I’m not poor, and I’m not in awe of you.”

“Aren’t you?” he said in the same patient tone she’d used earlier. “You know, none of you have called me ‘Tony' since we got here?”

“Because you never actually introduced yourself as Tony,” she reminded him, still trying to be patient.

He looked at her over his shoulder as he continued searching. “I didn’t?”

She shook her head. “Nope. You didn’t introduce yourself at all, actually. Just said something like, ‘Yeah, it’s me,’ and walked away.”

He was quiet. “That _does_ sound like me,” he admitted at last. He held out a hand. “Fine. You call me Tony, I’ll call you Sharon.”

After a brief moment, she took his hand and gave it a shake. “Deal.”

He didn’t let go of her hand after. “You don’t remember me, do you.”

She frowned, debating how he would react if she pulled her hand away. “Should I?”

“Nah, guess not. You were just a kid then.” He dropped her hand and moved down the hall, opening the next door. “Light’s on.”

“That’s good, isn’t it? It means someone’s been here.” He looked over his shoulder at her as she squeezed in behind him. “Well, it wasn’t any of _us,_ ” she argued.

“You sure about that?” He moved deeper inside and opened the closet, finding a filing cabinet.

Her heart sank. He was going to go through everything in the cabinet, she knew. And sure enough, he opened a drawer and started thumbing through the files. Resigning herself to being stuck for however long Tony took, she sat behind the desk and started going through the drawers. Maybe if she could go through them, too, he wouldn’t go through them after her. “Well, sure. We were wiped after traveling here yesterday.”

He made a noncommittal sound, his attention suddenly rapt on the files.

She opened the center drawer, trying not to feel awkward that she had been dismissed so easily. Inside were six folders, and she slowly pulled them out. Something wasn’t right, she thought. Something wasn’t right, wasn’t right, wasn’t right. The files were labelled and accompanied by a picture, but something wasn’t right.

Barnes, James  
Carter, Sharon  
Rogers, Steven  
Romanoff, Natasha  
Stark, Anthony  
Wilson, Samuel

“Uh... Stark?” Catching herself, she tried again. “Tony?”

He turned, but his eyes only made it as far as the folders before stopping.

Her heart was beating harder. “We never sent them pictures,” she whispered. She looked again at the folders. Suddenly, her hand jerked out, and she grabbed her own folder and opened it. Her eyes scanned page after page after page, her heart beating harder and harder. She hadn’t told them this. She’d filled out the questionnaire, but it had been nothing like this. “What is this?” she asked, trying not to panic.

Tony turned, a handful of folders in his hands. “Probably something to do with these.” The folders he held were mirror images of the ones on the desk, only the pictures were covered with red X’s.

She licked her suddenly-dry lips, her eyes going from the folders to his face. “We need to keep looking,” she said quietly, forcing herself to think. “There have- there have got to be-”

“Answers somewhere,” Tony supplied, not ungently. “You focus on the desk. I’ll focus on... everything else.”

Her hands were shaking. The things she had noticed the night before, the things she was seeing now, if she had spoken up sooner, if she had done something different...

But no, it wouldn’t have mattered. Because if what Dr. Fury had said the night before was true, they were trapped here.

“You know what isn’t here that should be here?” Tony said, his voice making her jump.

“What?”

“The ham radio that Fury said was here.” He waved a hand around the office. “If this _is_ his office, there should be one. But there isn’t.”

“And no cell service,” Sharon said, her insides twisting.

Tony nodded. “This just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it.”

Sharon stared at him before finally looking again at the files. He had an odd definition of “better.”

* * *

The door hit something as he opened it. Bucky looked at Natasha, silently asking her to be cautious, and pushed the door farther open. There was a dull thunk on the other side, and from behind the door, he could make out something that seemed like he should be able to recognize it.

It wasn’t the sight so much as the smell that he recognized, though. He knew that smell all too well.

“Stand back,” he told Natasha. Keeping his movements slow and steady, he reached inside to turn on the light. From the doorway, he could see blood on the gray bedsheets and a woman’s pale arm.

Natasha gasped.

Steadying himself, Bucky stepped inside, careful to avoid the blood in the carpet.

“What happened?” Natasha whispered.

“Stay there.” He stepped gingerly around the rest of the room, checking the closet and under the bed. After several minutes, he stepped back out. “It’s Ms. Hill, I think.”

“You think?” There was a hitch to her voice.

He looked at her, gauging what he could tell her without her freaking out. She was a ballerina. There was no way she’d ever seen anything like that.

“James. Tell me.”

He swallowed. “We need to find the others.”

“But-”

He grabbed her hand, physically pulling her back to the lobby. “The others. _Now._ ”

* * *

“Definitely blood,” Sam said, trying to keep his voice level. The hints of blood they had seen before had given way to a bloodied smear that they carefully - and sometimes unsuccessfully - sidestepped. He’d seen worse, but he’d never seen anything like this.

“What gets me,” Steve said slowly, keeping his voice low, “is that if the drag marks started at the door, and we’re just getting the blood now... what happened to make someone bleed out in that time frame?”

“I’m not sure.” Sam swallowed. “But this is _gallons_ of blood, Steve. There’s no way it came from just one person.”

Steve watched Sam in the glow of their flashlights, then turned the flashlight to look around them. “Let’s head out,” he suggested. “Find where they ended up.” _They._ As if he knew or understood what had happened.

Sam nodded with relief and followed Steve. Both of them took care to check their surroundings, to be silent, and to avoid stepping in the trail. Even when the trail no longer had blood in it and was marked instead by scuff marks in the dust and scattered, discarded items shoved out of the way, they avoided stepping in the trail by unspoken agreement. “Not a lot of people could keep their shit together seeing all that blood,” Sam murmured when they got closer to the door. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end, and he searched the shadows with his flashlight but saw nothing.

“I was thinking the same about you,” Steve said with a grin.

“I wasn’t just in the Air Force. I was a paramedic. What about you?”

“Army. Iraq. Front lines. I’ve seen worse.”

“So’ve I. Doesn’t make this any better.”

Steve’s expression clouded. “I’m more worried about Bucky.” At Sam’s questioning look, he shrugged. “Bucky got captured. I found him. That’s how I’ve seen worse.”

Sam didn’t press, and Steve turned back to the task at hand. There wasn’t much grass in the evening shadow of the hospital, a shadow that was deepening by the second, but he could see a faint indent in the dirt and rocks where something - or someone - might have been dragged. The trail led them to the north, behind the building that was already in ruin across from the hotel. There was scrub brush here, but it thinned as the trail went into the building.

“At least it isn’t as creepy,” Sam said. Despite his words, he still kept his voice quiet.

“We looked around here yesterday,” Steve agreed, sounding doubtful. He stepped inside, his flashlight beam sweeping the floor. “Trail’s gone cold.”

“Room by room?”

Steve nodded, and together, the two cleared each room, searching for crevices. On the building’s second story, where they took care to walk tentatively, Sam found a bone beside a doorway. He waved Steve over, and the two of them moved through the doorway.

“Shit,” Sam said.

Steve only managed to make a small strangled sound.

Before them, piled high against each wall, were bones, neatly and lovingly arranged by type. And on the floor were two sheets - one with arms still in Ms. Hill’s sleeves and pale legs, and the other with bloodied stumps sticking out of a black trenchcoat. The hands and feet had been set aside in the corner.

“ _Shit,_ ” Sam said again.

Rousing himself, Steve shook his head. “The others. _Now._ ”

* * *

“We should keep looking,” Sharon said, struggling to keep her voice steady. She knew she was a nurse, she knew she’d had training to keep calm in emergencies, but this was something else. Tony had over a hundred files marked with red X’s, and he was still finding more. “Dr. Fury and Ms. Hill. They might still be around here somewhere.”

Tony scoffed. “They’re the ones who brought us here, more like. And for what? For us to end up like these saps?” He moved over to the desk and set a pile of folders beside her.

“What are those for?” Even to her, she sounded numb, and she tried to sound livelier, tried to sound good for something, but her brain was too deep in a fog. 

“I don’t know yet. I’ll figure out something later. I’m a genius, after all.” He pushed her chair out of the way and started going through drawers.

Wanting to be useful, she pulled the files closer and started reading them. She was slow at first, the words in a jumble, but after a couple minutes, her brain started to kick in again. This was something it knew how to do. Intake and assess information. She could do this.

She didn’t know if it would be good for anything, but she could do this.

By the time she got to the second folder, Tony was reaching for the bottom drawer. A couple minutes later, after she was a couple pages in, she heard, “Son of a _bitch._ ”

She looked down at him. “What?”

He leaned nearer to the floor, contorting himself. “There’s a hidden compartment. Of _course_ there is.” After several seconds, he tugged out a pile of papers and stood with a groan to set them on the desk.

Sharon stood, too.

“Sharon,” he said, his tone light, “tell me I’m misreading this.”

She shook her head. “It- it doesn’t make sense.”

“Son of a _bitch,_ ” he repeated.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” she argued. “This place was abandoned.”

“No, people _thought_ it was abandoned,” Tony said firmly. “But you saw someone in the hospital who didn’t use a flashlight, right? That means the person knew their way around.”

She kept her eyes on the papers, afraid to follow his train of logic.

“Come on,” he said. “We’re getting the others. They’re more important than Fury or Hill.” At her betrayed look, he shook his head. “Fury and Hill got us into this mess. Come _on._

Sharon hesitated. “Is there anything we can put the files in?” she asked after a moment.

“They’re not going to disappear,” he said impatiently.

“Fury and Hill weren’t going to disappear either,” she pointed out. She started gathering the folders on the desk together. “I just... Something isn’t right here.”

“Hell no, it’s not,” he snapped.

She continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “And I’m not sure, but I think there might be clues in these files. So... please?”

He stared at her for several seconds, then ran his hands over his face and exhaled loudly. “Fine,” he said, sounding like a whiny teenager. Within minutes, though, he’d gotten a box from the closet, and the two were loading up the files they’d found, along with the papers on the island’s history.

“Somehow, I don’t think Morning Joe is going to like what we found out.”

She looked at him curiously.

“Buckaroo Banzai,” he said.

“Bucky,” she corrected.

“Whatever.” When she moved to carry the box, he leaned in to grab it himself. Despite his grunt, he managed to lift it. “I’m just saying. Guy with a morning temper like that isn’t going to like finding out he’s sleeping next to a possibly-still-occupied hospital for the criminally insane.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting _this_ chapter. It seems my computer is no longer recognizing my wifi. Maybe something doesn't want this fic posted! ~OoooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooOOOOOOOOO~
> 
> The cold is slowly passing, so I'll be working on the upcoming chapters at long last. We'll see if the ~spooky things~ let me post them!

“Where is everybody?” Bucky demanded, his eyes looking over the empty hotel lobby. He tried to stave off the panic he felt, but a small voice in the back of his mind was screaming. This was meant to be a relaxing vacation. He’d needed this to be relaxing. This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

“They’re probably still looking around.” There was doubt in Natasha’s voice. “We _did_ have the smallest space to cover. James, what did you see?”

His didn’t want to tell her. He swallowed and licked his lips, took a breath. He didn’t have to tell her anything. It was better that way. “No, Sharon and Stark had even less.” In contrast to her voice, his was firm. “They should be done by now.”

“Maybe she’s hiding his body,” Natasha joked nervously. She hugged herself.

“Or maybe I’m hiding hers,” Stark announced. He carried a cardboard box to one of the tables beside the fireplace at one end of the room. “We’ve got a problem.”

“Yeah, we’ve got a-” Bucky looked quickly at Stark. “What problem do you think we have?”

“What problem do _you_ think we have?” Stark countered.

“Tony.” Sharon’s tone was pleading. She moved to his side and opened the box, taking out a folder. “Where are Steve and Sam?”

Tony? Was she friends with the asshole now? He glanced at Natasha to see her reaction and stopped as soon as he realized what he was doing.

Bucky swallowed. “I don’t know. They should be here by now.”

“The hospital’s much larger than either floor of the hotel,” Sharon said, her voice soothing.

Bucky glared at her. “Don’t do that damn voice. Not with me. Not now.”

Sharon glanced at Natasha, then at Stark. She opened her mouth, and he could see that she was about to keep using that oh-so-soothing voice, but then she closed her mouth. When she spoke, it was only to say, “Okay,” and turn back to the files.

It didn’t take long for the silence to get to him. “I’m going to go find Steve and Sam,” he announced.

“Not alone, you’re not,” Stark snapped.

Bucky looked at Natasha, then at Sharon, who appeared absorbed in the files. He didn’t want either of them with him, didn’t want either of them seeing anything like he’d seen upstairs. “Fine. Stark. Come on.”

If Stark was surprised that Bucky had ordered him to tag along, he hid it quickly.

“Lock the door behind us,” Bucky directed Natasha.

She nodded, her eyes wide and fearful, and he wished she wouldn’t look at him that way.

But there was nothing he could do about it. Helpless then and helpless now. Story of his life. Without another look for her, he strode out the door, Stark following in his wake.

* * *

“There’s no lock,” Natasha said after hurrying to the door after them. “Why the fuck isn’t there a lock?”

“We _are_ on an isolated island,” Sharon offered. “Whoever built the hotel probably figured no one would ever be here unless they were staying at the hotel.”

Natasha drew closer to the table. “You must have learned that soothing voice as a nurse, right?”

Sharon looked at her in surprise. “Uh... yeah. I guess I’m pretty bad about it, huh?”

Natasha grinned. “Let’s just say I’ve noticed it more than once.” Her eyes fell to the folders. “What are those?”

“I don’t know yet,” Sharon admitted. “We found them in one of the offices. I’m going through them to see if they’re... important? To find out what they mean.” She closed one of the files and showed Natasha the red X on the picture on the front. “Because _this_ isn’t comforting.”

Natasha picked one of the files from the box and began flipping pages, though she didn’t seem to be reading any of them. “Did you always want to be a nurse?”

Glancing at her, Sharon shook her head. “No. But it made my parents happy. It pays the bills.” She shrugged. “And I get to help save lives. That’s something.”

“‘Help save lives?'”

Sharon shrugged again. “I’m not high enough up the chain. I get to do things if there’s an emergency, but it’s actually a lot more boring that people realize. Most of what I do is filing and keeping track of supplies.”

“Still cool, though,” Natasha offered. “So, like, if I tear a tendon, you can help me out?”

She grinned. “I promise to help you put ice on it accordingly.” Her grin faded, her brow drawing together. “Come to think of it, Tony and I didn’t see any first aid kit...”

Natasha waggled her eyebrows. “Tony now?”

“He doesn’t like being called Stark, apparently. He thought he’d introduced himself as Tony, but I guess he forgot he didn’t introduce himself at all.”

“Huh.” Natasha seemed about to say something else, but then she froze and turned her head to the side. “Did you hear that?”

Sharon went still, straining to hear what Natasha had heard. She thought she caught a faint sound, but then there was something nearer, loud enough that she jumped and spun around. Someone had rapped their knuckles against the window. No, that wasn’t quite the sound... But something was definitely knocking against the window.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding and laughed nervously. “Just the guys, probably.”

“Why didn’t they use the door, then?” Natasha asked.

Sharon shrugged. “Maybe they got turned around?” Unlikely. It was a small island. It would be nearly impossible to get lost. “Come on. We’d better go see what’s going on.” She set the folder on the table and held her hand out to Natasha. “They’re probably just trying to come in the back way.”

“There’s that soothing voice again,” Natasha complained shakily.

Sharon forced a grin and wiggled the fingers of her other hand. “Be soothed... be sooooooooothed.”

Natasha stared at her.

“Or not,” Sharon said awkwardly. “But come on. You’ll see there’s nothing to be concerned about.” Natasha’s hand clutching hers, she led the way toward the thumping sound. There was definitely something wrong with it. It wasn’t constant, or even rhythmic. It wasn’t sharp as if someone was knocking...

“I don’t suppose you have a gun on you,” Sharon whispered.

“Why the fuck would I have a gun?” Natasha demanded. “Why do we need a gun?”

She shook her head. “We don’t.” She continued toward the sound. “Wouldn’t have been able to get it past airport security anyway...”

“I don’t even know how to _use_ a gun,” Natasha said, her voice shaking. “Do _you?_ ”

Sharon ignored the question. The thud was coming from a window in the corner, and she frowned at the curtains in front of it. “Did you draw the curtains earlier?” she murmured.

Natasha shook her head emphatically. “Please tell me you did.”

Licking her lips, Sharon gently felt for the opening in the curtains, found it, then pulled them wide open.

She turned to Natasha and chuckled nervously, waving a hand at the plywood board that was serving as a makeshift window. She shook her head.

And then heard the thunk again.

Natasha clutched her wrist.

“It’s probably just the guys,” Sharon said again, though she didn’t believe it. Fortunately, she had automatically adopted her soothing tone, so maybe Natasha wouldn’t notice. Her fingers felt along the plywood, searching for a way to get it open. Whatever was on the other side kept thunking. It didn’t sound human, though, she reasoned. It sounded like something moving in the wind.

“Are you sure about that?” Natasha asked nervously.

“If it isn’t the guys, and it just some sort of stick, this is going to bother us all night,” Sharon pointed. “I’m not sure it’s...” Safe. “Smart to go out right now. We’ll just open it enough to move the stick, or tell the guys to go around to the front, whichever, and then put the plywood back. Easy.”

Natasha swallowed and moved to help. Sharon was surprised to notice the callouses on Natasha’s hands but was distracted before she thought to mention it. With both of them pulling, the nails strained in the window frame. 

“Can you see what it is?” Natasha asked, her voice worried but, Sharon noticed, not as frightened as it had been. Maybe she was actually managing to reassure her after all.

“Hold it there.” Sharon pressed her face against the wall to see through the gap.

For a moment, everything was dark, and Sharon frowned. She wedged her hand between the plywood and the window frame to hold them apart. “Come here and tell me if you can see anything.”

“If some psycho stabs out my eye...” Natasha muttered, relenting and peeking out of the gap beneath Sharon.

And then they saw Ms. Hill’s disembodied head swing into the plywood.

* * *

“ _There_ you are, asshole,” Bucky shouted, relief at seeing Steve making him go almost weak. He hurried forward, leaving Stark behind.

“We’ve got a problem,” Steve said, trying to keep quiet.

“ _You’ve_ got-” Bucky stopped, then looked back at Stark. “Fucking- Stark and Sharon found something. Natasha and I found a- a- I don’t-” He blanched as he remembered the scene from the hotel room. How could he describe what they’d found?

“We need to get back inside,” Steve urged quietly. “Where are Sharon and Natasha?”

“The hotel,” Stark said as he caught up. “Why?”

“We need to get there.” Steve set off, his steps quick.

Overhead, a low rumble of thunder moved mad Bucky’s jaw ache.

“Great,” Sam muttered. “Mood weather.”

Bucky looked at him, and Sam pointed upwards. “Storm’s coming in. I swear to God, this is-”

A woman’s scream pierced the air. Steve was off in a shot, the others following close behind. Steve slammed against the door, but Natasha and Sharon must have locked it after Bucky and Stark had left, because he had to shoulder it open. The group barreled through the hotel’s entrance, following Steve rather than checking to see where the sound was coming from.

When Bucky reached them, he saw Steve trying to comfort Natasha, his hands rubbing her arms as he looked worriedly at Sharon, her hand over her mouth. Her eyes were on a piece of plywood blocking the window - or, rather, looking through it to something she’d already seen.

In the few seconds silence that followed, Natasha choked on a sob, and something thudded against the window. No, directly against the plywood. Frowing, Bucky moved forward and peered through the gap the girls must have made, and the blood drained from him face when he saw what had made the sound. He moved out of the way so Sam and Stark could see.

“We- we heard the noise and- I thought it was just- I didn’t think it would be-” Sharon swallowed. Her hands were shaking.

“Fucked up,” Sam mumured.

Stark nodded.

Steve drew a deep breath. “Buck. Blankets.”

Sharon looked at him for several seconds before understanding dawned. “The kitchen.” Her voice trembled. “I’ll put some tea on.”

“Tea?” Steve said, his voice softly teasing. “Not coffee?”

She shrugged. “My aunt’s English. We’re a tea-drinking family.”

“Bunch of heathens.” Steve kept his tone light and inoffensive. Bucky didn’t think Steve was just flirting with Sharon - though he’d noticed that Steve seemed to like her - but he seemed to be trying to get Sharon’s mind off Ms. Hill’s head on the other side of the window.

“I guess that leaves it to us to take... _that_ down.” Stark waved toward the outside and glanced at Sam as the head thunked against the plywood again, who stared back until his shoulders fell in resignation.

Bucky looked from them to Steve and Natasha and back again. “I’ll help Stevie take care of them,” he mumbled.

Sam nodded, but Stark was already on his way out the door. 

Bucky shuffled to the kitchen, with its plain, service-style breakfast table, the smaller table shoved into an alcove, several mismatched chairs, and harsh overhead light. Natasha sat alone at the main table as Steve and Sharon moved around, making tea and hot chocolate. Bucky thought Sharon was moving just for the sake of moving, talking for the sake of not having to think about something else. He understood. He’d been there.

He sat near Natasha, leaving a chair between them. “You okay?”

She wordlessly shook her head, her lips pressed together so tight they appeared white.

Not feeling much like talking himself, and not knowing what to say, he lapsed into silence. It earned him a concerned glance from Steve, but he only shrugged and tried not to think about if Sam and Stark were in trouble. He could go make sure, but that would mean leaving Steve, Natasha, and Sharon. He fidgeted, trying to keep the tendril of panic from squeezing around his heart. The bloodied room he’d found, the utter ferocity of what had been done to Ms. Hill’s body... If that were to happen to Sam and Stark, how long before they would even know? Then it would be four of them, alone, with a killer on the loose. He knew Steve could fight, but he didn’t think Natasha or Sharon could. He wasn’t even certain about himself, if he were being honest. He should have gone with Sam and Stark, made sure they were okay. What could it have hurt?

His breath exploded outward when Sam and Stark entered. He could feel everyone turn to look at him, but he didn’t care. They were safe. They were okay. Everything was okay. Well, it wasn’t, but it was better than it could have been.

“Already starting to rain,” Sam announced. “We left... her... outside on the front step. Weird, though.” He looked at Stark. “There’s no wind out there. No room for it- only thing outside the window is one scraggly tree and the side of the mountain.”

He didn’t say it, but they all understood. Someone must have been out there, knocking the head against the plywood until they’d found it. Sharon turned ashen, and Steve quickly asked her to find some honey. She turned to look, her motions robotic.

Stark dropped into one of the seats at the kitchen table. “We already nailed it back into place. Everything good in here?” His voice was suspicious; he kept his eyes on Bucky.

“We’re okay,” Steve said, drawing everyone’s attention away from Bucky, who nodded to him in gratitude. “We need to talk. Sam and I... We found a room of bones in the building across the way. Most of them were arranged. There were... a lot. And they weren’t there the last time we looked around” Sharon and Stark looked at each other. “And it looked like someone was dragged to that building from the hospital.”

“Only with a lot more blood than someone would normally have.” Sam crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “I was a paramedic in the Air Force, and it freaked me the hell out.”

“We found body parts in there, too,” Steve said slowly. “Dr. Fury and Ms. Hill.”

“Parts?” Stark echoed.

Steve was quiet.

Natasha shuddered.

After a moment, Stark took off his jacket and draped it across her shoulders; she didn’t so much as flinch.

“There’s a body upstairs,” Bucky said quietly. “Ms. Hill’s body. The... rest of it.” He swallowed thickly. “It- It looked like it had been torn apart.”

“Sharon and I can shine some light on how screwed we are,” Stark said brightly. “Sharon?”

She poured a cup of tea and held it tightly in her hands. “You tell them, Tony. Anyone else want tea?” When no one replied, including Natasha, who still sat motionless, she grumbled to herself. She poured another cup nonetheless, though, and set it in front of Natasha. After wrapping Natasha’s hands around it, Natasha drank as if the motions were automatic. Sharon sat beside her, quietly urging her to drink more.

“The place used to be a hospital for the criminally insane,” Stark said with a flourish. “Figured nobody would escape way out here, I guess. And I’d also guess that they forgot to get everybody off the island.”

“A hospital for the criminally insane,” Sam echoed. “You’re joking.”

Stark shook his head.

“And now it’s about to storm,” Sam complained. “Who wants to bet, with our luck, that we’re going to lose power?”

Steve sighed and started opening drawers. “I know I saw more flashlights somewhere...”

“There’s more,” Sharon said, her voice quiet. Once everyone’s attention was on her, her cheeks turned pink. “Dr. Fury said he worked for MediCore, but we stock MediCore products at the hospital. They do medical supplies. But specifically, they do _diabetic_ medical supplies. They don’t do sleep studies. They never would.”

Natasha blinked at her. “You’re saying- you’re saying Dr. Fury lied to us.”

“Or someone lied to him,” she said, but she sounded doubtful. “And we found files of other people. They all have red X’s over their pictures.”

“Any files on us?” Bucky asked.

“No,” Sharon said. She stirred her tea. “Could use honey,” she murmured. “Nat, you want honey?”

Natasha looked in surprise at the tea in her hands. “Uh... sure.”

“So someone lied to get us here,” Tony said slowly, his eyes firmly on Sharon as she moved around the kitchen. “Why us?”

No one answered. It was easy to see that none of them had an answer.

“Okay.” Steve’s voice was quiet, but still loud in the silence. “Until we figure out what’s going on, no one goes anywhere alone. Buck, Sam. You two see any places we could use to hunker down for the night?”

Sam frowned, looking troubled, and Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “This place wasn’t built like that, Stevie. We can squeeze into one of the rooms...”

“Throttling our access to the kitchen,” Sam pointed out. “We could stay in the kitchen, but the bathrooms are across the lobby.”

“And the bar,” Stark said irascibly.

“There’s no lock on the front door,” Sharon said, sounding nervous. “I’m not sure any doors have locks, actually, except for the rooms.”

“No lock?” Steve echoed.

“Natasha went to lock it after Bucky and Tony left but said there wasn’t one. We talked about it.”

“There’s not one,” Natasha said numbly, her voice rough.

“Did you jam it?”

Natasha studied him and slowly shook her head. “Why?”

“He couldn’t get it open,” Bucky said slowly. “Like someone was blocking it?”

After a moment, Steve nodded.

“Shit,” Sam muttered.

Steve was silent as he considered, and somehow, Bucky wasn’t surprised that everyone was waiting to see what he said. He seemed to realize it, too, and a tinge of nervousness crept into his stance. “Okay. First step. Sam’s right. We can’t rely on having power. So we need flashlights and candles. We’ll hole up in the kitchen - so let’s get some blankets and pillows. And we need to check that whoever is out there isn’t in here with us and barricade the doors. Tomorrow, when it’s light out, we’ll check out the dock, see if we can find another boat. Maybe make one out of things we find on the island.” He paused. “Sharon, Stark- did you two find that ham radio Dr. Fury mentioned?”

“There wasn’t one,” Sharon murmured.

Steve didn’t speak right away, and Bucky focused on steadying his breathing. “Stark,” Steve said at last. “You’re a tech genius, right?”

“Of course I am,” Stark answered.

A muscle in Steve’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t remark on Stark’s lack of humility. “For tonight,we need walkie-talkies. And if you can come up with something to send a distress call, that would be even better. Can you do that?” Steve wasn’t saying it, but Bucky knew he was thinking about the possibility they _couldn’t_ build a boat.

“Can you do a push-up?” Stark countered. At Steve’s blank expression, he said, “Yeah. I can do all of that.”

“Okay.” Steve rubbed his hands together, then opened a drawer and rummaged through it before pulling out a flashlight. “Thought it was in there. Let’s all get supplies. We stay in a group, watch out for each other. Everybody ready?”

Slowly, each pair of eyes turned to Natasha, who drew a shaky breath and set her cup aside. “Let’s go,” she said, her voice quiet.

Bucky moved to her side and offered his hand, and she blinked at him in surprise. He looked away. “Just thought I’d help,” he mumbled.

She took his hand and stood. “Thanks.”

Mindful that she was married, he made sure she was standing steadily, then pulled his hand out of her grasp. He nodded to Steve, and Steve led the way out of the kitchen.

“You’re the nurse,” Bucky told Sharon. “I think you’d better...”

“Right,” Sharon said slowly, looking between Bucky and Natasha. He wished she wouldn’t.

Sam held the door open. “Hey,” he called. “Come on.” He focused on Bucky. “I’ll bring up the rear with you.”

“Great,” Bucky said dryly. “With an Air Force guy at my six, I feel _so_ safe.”

“Not after making fun of the Air Force, you shouldn’t,” Sam responded, obviously teasing.

The hallway was short before it opened into the wider lobby. Sharon made a beeline for the files on the table. At a sound from Sam, she wrapped her arms around it and hurriedly carried it toward to the kitchen.

“Seriously?” Sam hissed. “ _Files?_ ”

“I swear there’s something in here,” Sharon said emphatically. “I just need more time to find it.”

“There are more files, too,” Stark whispered back. “Watch her try and get you to carry all of them.”

Steve twisted around to look at her. “You really think they’re important?”

She seemed to shrink away. “If- If we can figure out why they chose us, why they’re choosing certain people...”

“We might be able to figure out what’s going on.”

“ _If_ we live that long,” Stark muttered.

Steve ignored him. “It’s worth a try. Buck, Sam, could you help her take that box to the kitchen?”

Bucky fought down the panic rising in his chest and clenched his fists. He nodded.

The three were quiet until they reached the kitchen.

“So,” Sharon said shyly as she pushed the box into a corner next to the counter. “You and Natasha...”

He shook his head. “She’s married.”

Sharon looked at him with a hint of pity, and he looked away.

“Well, _I_ for one am _glad_ we’re not pairing up romantically,” Sam said firmly. “Because that would leave me with Stark, and he’s not my type.”

Bucky grinned at Sharon to see her duck her head, her cheeks turning a faint pink.

He was tempted to make a comment but opted instead to focus on rejoining the others. Steve and the others hadn’t made much progress. They’d gone through a couple closets, but it looked like all they’d found were batteries and a keychain flashlight, so dim it was almost useless.

After joining them, Bucky understood what the problem was. Stark insisted on going through every nook and cranny. It took the better part of an hour to search five closets. With Steve unwilling to let people go too far off on their own, and Stark unwilling to let them go at all, and only two and a half flashlights as the hotel grew darker, Bucky wasn’t the only one starting to become frustrated. The others began testing their limits, going farther and farther before Steve told them they were going too far.

Bucky drew closer to him. “I think you’re going to have to split us up again, Steve. The others won’t be able to keep going at this pace.”

Steve looked after the others, nibbling his bottom lip. He glanced at each of them, and then drew a breath. “Okay, listen up. Sharon, Stark, you’re with me. Bucky, Sam, Natasha, you go together. We need bedding, and-”

Bucky clapped him on the back. “We know, pal. We know.”

Steve grabbed his hand, and Bucky quieted at the urgency in Steve’s eyes. “Weapons,” Steve said. His voice was too soft for the others to hear. “We don’t know how long we’ll be here. Get weapons.” He shoved one of the two good flashlights into Bucky’s hand.

Silent, Bucky gave a slight nod. “Okay,” he said loudly, knowing he had to distract them from his and Steve’s exchange. He glanced at the flashlight in his hands and tried to turn the subject - and his mind - away from weapons. “Let’s go. First stop, a bigger, better flashlight. Second stop, bedding.”

“It _would_ be about size with you,” Sam teased.

“What, you wanna compare?” Bucky returned. 

“Boys,” Natasha said. “Just remember. If you two are going to measure, I’m the one who’s going to be the impartial judge.”

Bucky and Sam looked at each other, then at her, and back at each other, and the few lights that were on - Steve hadn’t allowed them to go far enough to turn all of them on - flickered.

“So... you mentioned another flashlight?” Sam said.

Bucky nodded. He didn’t think he’d ever figure out Natasha.

* * *

Steve watched them go, listening to the bickering as it faded. Once they were gone, the only sound was Stark rummaging through the closet. He turned to see Sharon looking at him expectantly, and he ran a hand through his hair and glanced at Stark. “How much longer this time, Stark?”

“Can’t rush genius,” Stark said in a sing-song voice.

Steve sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets. Yeah, he couldn’t rush genius. He’d been trying for hours to no avail.

It was another hour of Stark going through each and every nook and cranny, with Bucky, Sam, and Natasha going by twice with armloads of bedding, batteries, even some candles and matches before Steve worked up the guts to speak to Sharon directly. “Because you’re patient.”

She blinked at him, and he felt his cheeks turn hot as he realized he hadn’t said the first half of the sentence. “The reason I asked you to stay and the others to go. Because you’re patient. And...” He waved his hand toward Stark.

“Oh. Well... Thanks. I think.”

Steve nodded, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He tried, but his brain wouldn’t work that way, no matter how much he urged it to. After another twenty minutes, he only managed to say, “Stark. Are you _sure_ you can’t go faster?”

Stark glared at him over his shoulder.

The next time Bucky and the others passed by, Sharon quietly asked them to get all the files from the office they could if they had the chance.

Thunder rumbled and pealed overhead, with the lights flickering every time lightning struck. As Steve had feared, after one particularly bright lightning strike, the lights didn’t come back on.

Everything was dark except for their flashlights - thank God they’d managed to find some - and Bucky, Sam, and Natasha were back and milling around as thunder rolled outside, when Stark finally made a sound of satisfaction. “Shary, hold these.” He loaded Sharon’s arms with bits and bobs that she struggled not to drop. Natasha quickly stepped in to help, and Steve suspected she was pretending not to see the irritated look Stark sent her.

“We set up the beds,” Bucky said again as they finally walked toward the kitchen. No one mentioned he’d already said it, and for that, Steve was grateful. He knew Bucky was probably already aware of it. “Well, bed-like spaces. Everyone has their own little space. It’s kind of cozy.”

“But a good cozy,” Natasha said.

Sam stopped walking, and Steve, unable to stop in time, bumped against him.

“What is it?” Steve whispered.

Sam didn’t answer. He backed up and held the flashlight over his head, aimed at the floor. The others moved out of the way of the light, and then Steve saw it. Sam _them._ Wet footprints.

The beam of light moved slowly along the hall, past one person and then another, and Steve’s eyes followed the footsteps caught in the light... until they stopped. Sam swept the floor beyond the last footstep, but the floor was dry.

Silent now, everyone looked at each other, then simultaneously trained their flashlights along the trail of footprints.

“Where do they go?” Steve asked, his voice sounding loud despite its quiet.

Sam clenched his jaw and started walking again. “Put the black man in front. Sure,” he muttered. Nonetheless, he led the way, his steps slow and silent. The wet footsteps, left, right, left, right, continued steadily toward the kitchen. Sam stopped outside the doorway and looked back at the others. 

Steve moved to the other side of the door, and Bucky drifted to his arm to back him up. At Sam’s nod, Steve pushed open the door.

Inside, the kitchen was dark. But as lightning flashed outside, Steve saw a man standing in the middle of the room. He rushed forward to tackle him, but as Sam’s flashlight beam shone on the man, Steve stopped. There was no one there. He could have _sworn..._

“Steve?” Bucky looked around the kitchen. “Uh, you guys haven’t been in here lately, have you?”

“No, why-”

Sam’s flashlight turned around the kitchen, and Steve added his own flashlight’s beam to the mix.

All the cabinets and drawers in the kitchen were wide open, and the wet footsteps led to a puddle in the middle of the floor.


	4. Chapter 4

His first thought was that if the person wasn’t in the kitchen like he’d thought, then he was obviously close by, possibly watching them from elsewhere in the hotel. The rational part of his brain told him that it must have been a reflection, that they had to keep the person out and protect themselves. “Everybody, inside,” Steve said, his voice sharp. “ _Now._ ”

Quickly, the others piled in behind him. Steve looked around for the back door, only to see that it was solid wood, with a chair pushed up against it so no one could go in or out. He pushed down the uneasy feeling to look behind him at the only other door in and out of the room.

“Buck. Lock it.”

Bucky looked at the door, then looked back. “There’s no lock. Stark. Help me brace it.” While they moved to secure the door, Sam stared at Steve.

“You really want to trap us inside here with that thing?”

“What thing?” Natasha asked, sounding nervous.

“Nothing,” Steve said firmly.

Sam shook his head. “No. _No._ You saw somebody standing there, just like I did.”

“Who?” Bucky switched his flashlight to his left hand and clenched his right hand into a fist.

“There was no one there,” Steve said, his voice hard.

Everyone stared at him. There was a flash of lightning and a rumble of thunder. Still, no one said anything.

Finally, Steve shifted his weight and took a breath. “We’re the only ones in here. Obviously. There’s no one else here, and there’s no way anyone could get in or out without us noticing. So let’s eat and get ready for bed. We’ll go in groups of three to the bathroom - people to go use the facilities, and people to stay behind and hold the fort, so to speak. We’ll assign shifts to sleep. Two people keep watch at all times. Agreed?”

The others nodded, looking at each other.

“Good. I’ll cook.”

“There a menu we can choose from?” Bucky joked weakly, sounding a little nervous. Steve doubted anyone other than himself could tell.

“Depends on what we have.” And what they could spare. Worst case scenario, they would be here for another five days. They’d have to make the food last. And that was assuming they lived that long. After what had happened to Dr. Fury and Ms. Hill...

Slowly, the others found tasks to occupy their time. Sharon was the first to settle down, sitting on a made-up sleeping area in the corner and pulling a box of files toward her. Stark was next, sitting at the table and taking apart all the pieces of machinery he’d found. Bucky wandered into the kitchen, standing nearby but keeping to himself. Natasha sat at the table with Stark, but if Steve didn’t know better, he’d say she was paying more attention to Sharon. Sam joined Steve in the kitchen to help with the cooking.

The only sounds were the thunder, the rain, and Tony occasionally mumbling to himself or giving Natasha orders.

“Should we talk about it?” Natasha said at last. “All the creepy stuff that’s happening?”

Steve looked at her. Part of him _did_ want to talk about how many creepy things were happening, but he didn’t want to make her any more concerned or frightened than she already was. He wasn’t sure how the others would respond, either. “I’m sure it just seems that way,” he said, trying to sound soothing.

“Like hell it does,” Sam muttered. At Steve’s look, Sam shrugged. “I saw somebody standing in the kitchen when we came in, only they weren’t there. And you saw them, too- no matter what you say. Sharon either saw whoever killed Dr. Fury and Ms. Hill in the old hospital or saw someone who wasn’t there - just like _we_ did. Those wet footsteps started in the middle of the hotel and ended in a puddle in the middle of the kitchen. Where’d they come from? Where’d they go? That doesn’t include whoever strung up Ms. Hill’s head outside the window, or the bone collection we found, or the blood that was too much for one person. Not to mention the _abandoned hospital for the criminally insane next door._ So no, it doesn’t just ‘seem that way.’ Something seriously fucked up is going on here.”

“We’ll check the dock tomorrow,” Steve said. He tried to sound confident; he wasn’t sure what else he could do. “See if we can find a way off the island. And Stark is working on making a way for us to keep in touch for when we’re separated...”

“Maybe I should make a ghost detecter instead,” Stark muttered. Though he didn’t seem to be paying them any attention, his comment proved that he was following the conversation as he worked.

“Can you do that?” Natasha asked, her voice harsh.

“Assuming ghosts exist, I could,” he said confidently. “But given that they don’t, and _some_ people are just letting the atmosphere get to them, I don’t see why it’s necessary.” He inclined his head toward Sam and rolled his eyes, continuing to toy with the mechanical pieces scattered on the table.

Sam glared at him. “I know what I saw.”

Stark raised his head, blinking as his eyes readjusted to the distance. “Oh. Sure. Never said otherwise.”

“You just said-”

Sharon raised her hand and kept it up, waiting.

One by one, everyone turned to look at her in surprise. She met their eyes, wordless, and kept waiting. Steve wondered if anyone else noticed that the escalating argument between Sam and Stark was stopped cold.

“Are you kidding me?” Sam asked, his temper still high. He visibly forced himself to go still and take a deep breath. His hands shook as he rubbed his temples. “You don’t have to raise your hand, Sharon. This isn’t grade school.”

Sharon didn’t need any more encouragement. She lowered her hand. “Did anybody else fail to join a government agency?”

Steve frowned at her, wondering why she had asked. A glance at the others showed they were just as confused.

“I... tried to join the CIA,” Bucky said slowly. “I didn’t make it.”

Steve leaned against the counter. “I tried to join a couple. Uh. Homeland Security. Interior. The VA, obviously. Department of Defense.” Getting that rejection letter had hurt, too.

“EPA,” Sam said. “And the VA.”

Natasha shrugged. “I’m not really into government agencies. And I don’t think any of them have dance troupes. Even the CIA.”

“I don’t work for government agencies,” Stark said loftily. “They work for me.” After a moment of Sharon watching him, he muttered. “Yeah, yeah. Does it matter which ones?”

After a moment’s consideration, Sharon shook her head. “But that helps. Thanks.”

The room fell quiet, save for Stark’s tinkering and Sharon flipping through pages. Steve turned toward the stove. “I hope meatloaf’s okay. Should be done in a couple minutes.”

“Smells good,” Natasha commended him.

He grinned at her. “I used to cook for me and my mom when I was growing up. I’ve picked up a couple things.” He almost said that Bucky wasn’t a bad cook, either, but he didn’t want to wingman Bucky to a married woman. 

The meal was a quiet affair. Sharon and Stark were both busy with their respective projects, and the others were too nervous or tired or both to make much conversation. It wasn’t long before Steve checked his watch. “Okay. Shifts.”

“Sharon and I will go first,” Stark said, without looking up. He was still tinkering. Sharon also didn’t look up, but she nodded. “And I’ll need people out of the kitchen, if possible. I’ll need the oven.”

Obviously, they felt they both were making progress and didn’t want to take a break. Steve inwardly sighed. “Okay. Buck, you know I don’t mind getting up early. You want the midnight shift?”

Bucky nodded.

“I can do midnight,” Natasha offered.

Sam raised an eyebrow at her. “I’m good with the dawn shift,” he said.

“Okay,” Steve said slowly, noting that Bucky didn’t meet Natasha’s eyes but also didn’t complain. “Stark, Sharon. Wake up Bucky and Natasha at ten. Buck, wake me and Sam up at three. That should give everyone at least five hours. That sound good?”

Bucky groaned. “I wouldn’t complain if you gave me six...”

“Better hope you don’t piss me off by snoring, then,” Steve teased. It took some pushing with Sharon and Stark, but he got them to both go to the bathroom with Natasha while he could. When everyone had completed their trips across the lobby, he moved around the room, blowing out all but the candles Sharon and Stark were using and making sure everyone had a flashlight nearby but that they were turned off. He checked that everyone had back-up batteries, too, before he finally sat on the blanket that Bucky had spread on the floor for him.

“Couldn’t have put more cushion in these, huh?” Sam asked.

“Sorry, your Highness.” Bucky turned to Natasha and rolled his eyes. “Air Force.”

“I can sleep without a pillow,” Sam said. Before anyone could realize what he’d meant, he’d thrown his pillow squarely at Bucky’s head.

Steve was relieved to see Bucky’s only response was to grin and sit on the pillow in retaliation.

“Said I could sleep without it,” Sam said, sounding smug as he put his head down.

* * *

Steve woke to the sound of screaming. He reached for his gun, only to belatedly realize he didn’t have one here. He jumped to his feet, his fists raised, and blearily saw Bucky kneeling in front of Natasha on the floor, his hands on her arms as he looked around the room, wide-eyed. 

Sam was on his feet as well, as was Stark, though Stark looked like he was about to fall over again at any second. Sharon sat, blinking at everyone in incomprehension. A glance at his watch told him they had likely gone to bed less than twenty minutes ago.

He moved closer to Bucky. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, his voice shaking. “I swear, Steve. We were just sitting on the counter, and then it was like- like something just hit her. Knocked her over.”

“Was it real?” Sharon asked, rubbing her eyes.

Natasha stared at her. “Of _course_ it was real!” she yelled. “Why would I lie about- Why would _Bucky_ lie about that?”

Sharon shrugged before giving a huge yawn. “You lied about the other stuff.” Her voice was flat, unimpressed.

Natasha glowered at her. “About _what_ other stuff.”

Sharon looked back without flinching. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

Sharon looked around at the others. She seemed to shrink away, but when she met Natasha’s eyes again, she squared her shoulders. “You’re a spy.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Seriously, Sharon?” Bucky exclaimed. “Are you even listening to yourself right now?”

Sharon glanced at the others. When she spoke again, her voice was quieter. “There are only five in each group.” She pointed to the files. “The dates. There are only five people each time. Except for our group. There are six of us. And even though the sleep study application never asked for pictures of us, they have them. The pictures line up with the ones we would have to take when we apply for high-security government jobs. If we didn’t apply for those, they used our DMV Because whatever this is has to do with some sort of government agency.” She nodded to Stark. “Nice picture, by the way.”

Stark looked impossibly smug at that, and Steve tried to ignore the pang in his chest.

“And since we all have some sort of past experience with at least one government agency,” Sharon continued, “at the very least, getting rejected for unspecified reasons. Five of us, at least. Just like there are typically five folders in each of the other studies. Except there are six of us. You’re the one who says she never tried to join.”

“So?” Natasha demanded. “Just because I’m not some military wingnut and they went with one more person this time around, I’m a spy?”

“No, that’s just evidence that you’re a spy.” Sharon swallowed. “You never tried to join, but you made a crack at the CIA, just like a rival spy agency would. Look at how Sam and Bucky have been sniping at each others’ agencies. And there are references to six people in each of the files, even though the sixth person is never identified. References to them are completely removed. Steve wasn’t the first person to think of splitting people into pairs. But how could past groups have three pairs if there were only five people? Unless whoever put these files together took your file out to keep your identity a secret. And you... keep flirting with Bucky even though you’re married, but you’re not a slut. I mean- I don’t-” Her cheeks flushed. “Um. Not that that matters? But it’s like you want him to like you. And you’ve never told us anything about your husband. Every time we talk about our backgrounds, you change the subject to other people as soon as you can. And you’re... the one who freaks out the most. Every time. But you never try to stop us from doing anything. You go with us to investigate weird sounds, go with us to explore the area... I think you’re watching us to see what we do.”

“And why the hell would I do that?” Natasha’s tone was dangerously pleasant.

At that, Sharon looked a little lost.

“Because this whole thing is bullshit,” Sam said, arms crossed. “The hospital for the criminally insane, the abandoned island, the impossibility of escape, the murders, the ghost gags. They’re horror movie tropes. This whole thing is some sort of game.”

“It’s a test,” Steve said slowly. “Like a boot camp. We didn’t fail after all - they just- just...”

Sharon picked up the thread. “Have something else in mind for us. We were all qualified for the positions we wanted, all had experience. I had concentrations at school, Sam, Bucky, and Steve all have military service. Tony’s a genius. There was no reason we shouldn’t have passed. So this isn’t a sleep study, it’s another test to see if we’re what they’re looking for.”

“And they’re looking for what?” Sam asked. “Ghost Busters?”

Bucky had been silent, his eyes rarely straying from Natasha. “Are Dr. Fury and Ms. Hill really dead?”

Natasha turned to him, clearly hurt. “Bucky- you, too?”

He nodded slowly. “They’re right. It doesn’t add up. You’ve been everywhere with us, watching us. You’ve been the most afraid, but also the person who wants to be where you _can_ be afraid. You wanted to see that hotel room. You wanted to help find Ms. Hill’s head.” He appeared uncertain for a moment. “I think you’ve been messing up intentionally. If this is a test, that’s exactly what someone would do if they _wanted_ people to figure something out.”

In the seconds that followed, Sharon looked doubtful, but as soon as she met Natasha’s eyes, she stopped shrinking away. She squared her shoulders. “Well?”

Natasha stared at them each in turn, pleading silently. Steve looked noncommital, but Sam was firm, as was Sharon. Stark appeared merely curious, though there was a hint of anger underneath. Bucky seemed a little lost, but he wasn’t speaking up for her, either.

Her shoulders fell. “ _Finally._ ” At their stares, she shrugged. “What? She’s right.” She grinned at Sharon. “And I’m glad, too, because I bet Hill and Fury you’d figure it out. You just made me a nice bit of money.”

Sharon stammered, but Natasha waved her hand.

“Yes, I’m a plant. And _yes,_ ” she said, turned to Sam, “this is a test. The horror tropes are clues that something else is going on. Most people in the beginning just shrugged things off unless they knew to look for something. So we had to make it more obvious that they had to look for something. People,” she said grandly, “tend to be stupid.”

Stark nodded. Everyone else continued to stare at Natasha.

“You’ve already gotten farther than most.” Natasha smiled at Sharon. “Almost no one else has ever looked at the files before. They always dismiss them as unimportant and go for the macho crap first. No one ever figured out the government agency angle before, either.”

Bucky stared at her. “You mean you- you were spying on us?”

Natasha smiled sweetly. “And I’m not married, either.”

Bucky’s mouth snapped shut.

“So is this it?” Steve asked. “We passed?”

Natasha shook her head. “This was only one aspect of the test. And I can’t tell you everything.”

“The ghost,” Bucky said slowly.

Sam frowned at him, his arms crossed tightly. “You seriously think a ghost exists? It’s just them messing with us.”

“You should have seen it push her,” Bucky insisted. “There’s no way she faked it.”

“Or the wet footsteps,” Sharon added.

“Or that thing we saw standing in the kitchen,” Steve offered.

“Oh,” Sam scoffed. “ _Now_ you admit you saw something.”

Sharon looked curiously at Natasha. “Dr. Fury and Ms. Hill. Are they okay?”

Natasha nodded. “They set some stuff up right after they ‘went to sleep,'” she said, making quotation marks with her fingers. “They left that night with Coulson. The driver. He’s actually chatty as hell usually, but he loves to ham up the creep factor for training events.”

“Are they coming back to pick us up?” Steve asked.

“Either at the deadline, or if I say so. On the off-chance things get deadly.” She pulled a small device from her pocket; it looked almost like an iPhone, but a closer look showed that it wasn’t an Apple-made product, nor a Stark Phone.

“You had that the entire time,” Stark said, his voice insincerely light. “I kind of hate you right now.” He held up the two devices he’d been working on. They weren’t as small, nor as neat, as hers. He looked like he was tempted to destroy all trace of their existence.

Natasha smiled at him sweetly. “I’d let you play with my toys, Stark, but I’m afraid I-” She cut off as the device in her hand burst into loud static. After a moment, Natasha banged it with her palm.

_Get out..._

Natasha glanced up at Steve. A glass flew off the counter, headed for Natasha’s head, and Bucky hit it away. It fell to the floor and shattered. Sharon jumped to her feet.

_GET. OUT._

“Tell me that’s a trick,” Sam said, his lips thin and drawn.

Slowly, Natasha shook her head.

Seconds ticked by, and then, all at once, they relaxed. They looked at each other in surprise as they noticed they had all relaxed simultaneously.

“Broom and dustpan,” Sharon and Steve said together. They looked at each other quickly, and Steve looked away almost immediately.

“That thing doesn’t seem to like you much,” Sam said, nodding to Natasha.

She grinned, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Let’s just say we’ve had incidents in the past.”

Sharon found the broom and started sweeping. “So you’re here every time?”

“Me or Hill. But she’s not as good at pretending to be afraid of everything.”

“Let me see the phone,” Stark directed.

After several seconds, Natasha handed it over. “That’s the second part of your test. Getting the ghost to leave.”

Steve held the dustpan for Sharon. “Stupid me,” he groused. “I thought it would be getting off the island alive.”

“If the ghost is still here when you do,” Natasha said cheerfully, “you fail.”

“What if we’re dead?” Sam demanded.

“If the ghost is still here,” Natasha repeated. “You fail.”

Sam stared at her. “What the fuck kind of test _is_ this?”

“One that many people don’t pass,” Natasha said, her voice suddenly solemn.

There was a soft curse at the table, and everyone turned to stare at Stark except Sharon, who only spared him a glance as she continued to sweep, trying to make sure she hadn’t missed any broken glass.

Stark ignored them all, pressing one of his devices to his ear. After a moment, he shook his head. “I thought I heard music for a minute.”

“What kind of music?” Steve asked.

Stark shrugged. “I don’t know. Might have imagined it.”

Natasha didn’t look convinced.

“But, uh... you should know...” Stark continued. He held out the phone. “This is a brick.”

“What?” Natasha’s voice was harsh.

“Brick,” Stark repeated. “It has no power. It can’t do anything but be a brick. Or a paperweight. Do you have a charger?”

She nodded and went to her bag beside her sleeping area. After a moment, though, her hands went still. “It’s not here.”

“Please tell me this is another test,” Sam said. When Natasha turned to look at him, he cursed.

“This isn’t supposed to happen,” Natasha said, sounding irritated. “It’s never been like this before.” Realizing she had their attention, she raised her head and considered what she could say, her expression unreadable. “All the other times I’ve been here, people think they’ve seen things, lights turn on and off, objects move, but... but nothing like this. It’s stronger somehow...” She frowned, engrossed in her thoughts.

“If Dr. F-” Bucky paused, realizing that Dr. Fury might not be a doctor after all. “If Fury and Hill are okay, then what the fuck was all that stuff earlier? The bones, the blood? Hill’s fucking _head._ ”

“Set dressing,” Natasha said, her attention elsewhere. “The bones have been there for ages. We don’t know where they come from. Sometimes there are more. We don’t know where they come from. Maria’s head wasn’t real. It was a lifelike model.”

“More immediate matter,” Stark said. “This supposed ghost. That is apparently getting stronger and hates your guts.” Natasha glared at him; Stark didn’t seem to notice. “I think I know why it’s stronger all of a sudden.”

Natasha crossed her arms, looking for all the world as if she were about to start tapping her foot.

Stark cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “So... from what I remember from watching ghost shows - keeping in mind that I am _not_ a paranormal believer, because it’s all ridiculous and stupid, and I watch to turn off my brain and laugh at the idiots who get themselves hurt doing stupid things.” He broke off, only to find everyone staring at him, looking either unconvinced or outright uncaring. “Uh. Anyway. On those shows, they talk about how spirits, entities, _ghosts,_ what have you, can draw energy from things around them.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. “That isn’t necessarily wrong.”

“Oh, I’d say it’s actually right. Because there’s evidence that it’s true. Me. I’m the evidence, I mean.”

“What do you mean, Stark?” Steve asked, his eyes as narrowed as Natasha’s.

Stark pulled up his T-shirt, revealing a metal cap with a bright glowing light on it. “I needed the world’s best heart protection, so I made it. And I didn’t want to have to keep switching batteries, so I made it with 100% renewable energy. _Lots_ of 100% renewable energy.”

“Are you saying,” Bucky said slowly, “that you’re basically feeding that thing electricity?”

“Yep.” Stark pulled down his shirt, clearly uncomfortable. “So, uh. We can make it weaker, but that means I die. And for obvious reasons, I don’t want to choose that option. So...” He looked around at the staring faces around him. “Are we all fucked, or is it just me?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm now updating in real time (THANKS SO MUCH, COLD), so this is a little later than I hoped to post. But! I think the story will wrap up in two more chapters, so I expect it'll be all done and posted by Halloween!

“Okay, okay, okay,” Steve said quickly. “Let’s... let’s slow down. I don’t actually watch any ghost shows, so who here is the authority on- on-” He ran a hand down his face, unable to believe what he was about to say. “The paranormal.”

Everyone looked to Natasha and Tony, who glared at each other as if trying to determine which of them knew more. At length, Tony leaned back and crossed his arms in defeat. Natasha smirked.

“This is what I can tell you,” Natasha began.

“But not everything you know,” Steve said, his tone curt.

“If I told you everything I know, I’d have to kill you.” Her tone was lilting, but somehow it didn’t sound like it was a joke. “Would you like me to continue?”

Steve, for lack of a better word, sulked. But he also didn’t say anything more.

“Good. As you may be aware, not everyone agrees that ghosts exist.” Sam snorted softly, and Natasha graced him with a soft grin. “But our agency knows for certain that what is commonly known as the supernatural _does_ exist. Unfortunately, after that, everything is less certain.”

Sam threw his arms into the air. “ _Please_ tell me you at least know how to get rid of this thing.”

Natasha shrugged. “We haven’t found anything that works on everything. The Catholic church has its exorcism, but they only use it when they think it’s likely to work. Different Native tribes have different myths and legends, but those also don’t work all the time. That’s part of what this is - we want to see what different people do and see if we can apply the methods more widely.”

“What did the other groups do?” Steve asked.

“Most of them just ran around screaming,” Natasha admitted. “Most people break after the Hill head gag. I can think of four groups that managed to stick together after.”

“Four?” Steve took a breath. “Out of how many?”

Natasha eyed him with something akin to pity. “At least fifty on my watch. I don’t keep up with everything Hill does.”

“Shit,” Bucky muttered.

“What happened to them?” Sharon asked. “The people who didn’t stick together?”

Natasha shrugged. “Let’s just say we have a budget for physical and mental care after, shall we?”

“Your agency sounds like it’s run by a bunch of assholes,” Stark told her.

She smiled at him, but it seemed less cheerful than wolfish. “Why do you think we picked you to be here, Stark?” Her voice sing-song and slightly high-pitched. “One of us... One of us...”

Steve cleared his throat. “What did the four groups do?”

Natasha watched him, considering. “They didn’t succeed. They tried to do a seance at once point, which made everything worse. Not as bad as the group that tried the Ouija board.”

Stark snapped. “Ouija boards act as a portal to the other world. You’re _definitely_ not supposed to use them.” He grinned. “But I love when people do and put it on Youtube. _Lots_ of screaming and crying.”

“Did they figure out who it was or what it was?” Sharon asked, seeming to ignore Stark.

Natasha shook her head. “Whatever it is, it’s just... moved things, slammed doors shut, that sort of thing. Until now.”

“Okay,” Steve said. He turned to Sharon; after she’d gone through the files and discovered Natasha’s true purpose there, he understood what he was thinking. Or at least, he thought he did. “You think if we figure out its origin story, we can figure out how to get rid of it?”

She hesitated, then nodded.

“Agreed. Stark, since you know more about ghosts, I want you to work primarily on getting rid of it. Each of you should choose two people to help...” Part of him wanted to assign people, but he wasn’t sure what Bucky and Sam would rather do, and he wasn’t sure of Natasha - _this_ version of Natasha - at all. Besides, why _should_ he put people into teams? How had he ended up as the leader?

“Natasha?” Sharon called.

Natasha looked at her for several seconds before her eyes widened in understanding. “Oh. You mean me.” Realizing how stupid that sounded, she added, “To help you research.” Her expression turned to exaggerated doubt. “Are you sure you trust me?”

Sharon shrugged. “You’re a spy, so not having all the answers must irritate the crap out of you. We can use what you already know to help fill in gaps. And since you’re part of a government agency yourself, and likely wrote most of the reports I’ve been reading, I’m guessing you’re good at going through paperwork.”

After a moment, Natasha grinned in approval. “Very good.”

At no point had Sharon said she actually trusted Natasha, and the guys were left to look at each other in vague confusion. But Sharon and Natasha both seemed to consider the matter resolved and looked at Stark.

“Uh, Banana Man.”

Sam snorted as Bucky growled. “My name is _Bucky._ ”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Stark taunted. “Sorry. Just... I’m an adult. I can’t call you that. But yeah, you’re on my team. Congratulations.”

Bucky looked at Steve in desperation, only to hear Stark add, “And Steve. You, too. You can babysit the kid while I work.”

Steve stopped himself before he ran his hands over his face. His retort was interrupted by Sharon, who yawned widely. “You two need sleep,” he said, kicking himself for not realizing how tired they must be sooner. He knew they hadn’t gotten much sleep, and there he was, trying to push them to get going again.

“Just a couple hours maybe,” Sharon admitted, seemingly embarrassed. “Nurses are used to long hours.”

“And I can go for days once I get going,” Stark said smugly. The boast was followed by a yawn. “But maybe a nap won’t kill me.”

“Five hours,” Steve told them both. He met Bucky’s eyes. If they both took a two-and-a-half hour shift, they could each still get some more sleep and still be ready to go bright and early.

“Natasha?” Sharon asked as she wiggled back under her covers. “That first night, when none of us slept even though we were all jetlagged - were things rigged to make it hard for us to sleep, or was that the ghost, too?”

“Oh, that.” Natasha chuckled. “Yeah. Sorry. That was us.”

Everyone but Sharon, who was already curling up to sleep, glared at her, and she looked back, utterly shameless. “What? It helps set the mood.”

Sam groaned and rubbed his eyes. Instead of killing her, though, he dropped back onto his sleeping bag.

“Stark,” Steve said, his voice carrying despite how softly he spoke. “What happens if you turn off that... thing. In your chest. Even for a couple minutes?”

“I die,” Stark said flatly. “But thanks for asking about that right before I try to sleep.” He watched Steve suspiciously for a moment - and Steve wasn’t sure it was entirely in jest - before pulling the covers over his head.

Steve moved into the kitchen and stood by Bucky to plan. No sooner did he open his mouth than he found Natasha had followed him. He stared at her curiously, wondering how she had walked so silently, and most importantly, _why._

“You don’t trust me,” Natasha said. There was no accusation to it, only fact.

“Why wouldn’t we trust you?” Bucky asked, anger heavy in his tone.

Steve cleared his throat. Good to know Bucky was taking this in stride. “I figured Bucky and I would trade off of guard duty for the rest of the night. So if you want to get some sleep...”

Natasha watched each of them for several seconds before nodding. “But just so you know, Bucky. Knowing what I know about you, I know you would have done what I did. And possibly done more than I did.”

Bucky glared at her, and neither of them missed how Natasha pulled her bag closer to Sharon’s.

Wordlessly, they looked at each other, and then Steve went to sleep first. Bucky would need some time to stew before he could even try to sleep.

Putting his head on the pillow, Steve tried to ignore the sudden chill in the room. He tried to take comfort in knowing that they had a plan, but all he knew was that they had someone on the team who was a traitor, and another whose life depended on something that made their enemy stronger. As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t sure how Bucky would handle everything that was going on. As for Sam and Sharon... He didn’t know them well enough to say.

And as for him, he didn’t know the first thing about fighting ghosts. It was hard enough to think they existed.

He closed his eyes. He’d think more optimistically after he slept. Or at least, he’d better.

* * *

“Are we sure it’s morning?” Stark groused the next morning. There was light coming in through the windows, but it was so slight that it looked more like dusk. He looked longingly at his candle, but everyone had already decided they had to save their supplies as much as possible. 

“Positive,” Steve said.

“No breaks in the rain?” Sharon asked, taking her seat at the table beside Natasha.

“Nope.” Bucky sat across from her. It escaped no one’s notice that he hadn’t looked at Natasha since last night.

Sam looked between the two of them and took a bite of his cereal. “It isn’t natural. Should have stopped by now.” He looked suspiciously at Natasha. “This happen any of the other times?”

Natasha shook her head. “Nope.”

Sam made a noise deep in his throat.

Steve joined them at the table. “Okay. Here’s the plan. We split up into the groups we talked about last night, and do... what we need to do until we have answers. We don’t know how strong this thing is going to get, and we don’t know what it’s capable of. But we need to stop it before it gets stronger.”

There were nods and sounds of assent, and they quickly and quietly finished their breakfast and cleaned up after themselves. Stark was the only one who simply shoved his bowl away and didn’t move away from the table. After a moment of watching him, Sam sighed and cleared Stark’s dishes, muttering darkly under his breath. Stark didn’t appear to notice, not looking up as he arranged all the trinkets within to his liking on the table, and then took apart the comm he’d made the night before.

“Won’t we need that?” Steve asked, alarmed.

“Yeah, but keeping in touch with each other won’t help if we’re dead,” Stark pointed out. “I need the parts. We get out of this alive, tell Fury to stock the place with more machinery next time.”

Sharon caught Steve’s eye and mouthed, “Patience.” She nodded to Sam and Natasha and led the way into the lobby. 

The silence after they left lasted long enough that Bucky started to squirm. “So what are you going to make? One of those boxes like the Ghost Busters use?”

Stark raised his head long enough that Bucky could see the disgust on his face. “Never mention the thought that I’m unoriginal ever again.” He went back to work, leaving Bucky to blink, dumbfounded. 

The minutes stretched by. Steve busied himself with cleaning the kitchen some more. 

Bucky puttered around, trying to help as best he could. “If this keeps up-”

Stark shushed him.

Bucky stared at him, incredulous. “Did you just-”

Stark glared at him. “I’m currently pioneering science in a field that most scientists don’t believe exist with knickknacks from somebody’s junk drawer. Unless you have ACDC to drown you out, keep _quiet._ ”

Steve crossed his arms as silence fell again. Once again, the silence stretched, and even Steve started to feel like fidgeting. He couldn’t imagine how Bucky must be feeling. Bucky didn’t do well with long stretches of silence.

He looked out the window, then back to Stark.

Part of him knew they shouldn’t separate. But it wasn’t as if they were doing any good here, and there were too many things that they needed to do. They currently didn’t have any options, and they desperately needed them.

“Stark,” he said, his voice seeming loud in the quiet. “We’re going to check the dock.”

“Just do it _quietly,_ ” Stark urged without looking up.

Steve sighed. About to speak again, he realized Stark wasn’t listening. He nodded toward the door, and Bucky led the way out.

“He’ll probably be fine,” Bucky said, obviously having the same concern he did. “I mean, _we_ don’t want to spend more time with him. Why would a ghost want to?”

Steve hesitated. But no, they had too much to do to babysit someone. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“All I’m saying is that this isn’t the vacation I imagined,” Sam complained. “I don’t know if I can sue a government agency, but-”

“You can’t,” Natasha said. “It doesn’t help your case that we’re very secretive and if you tell anybody about this, you’ll sound like a nutcase.”

Sam made a face. “I’m guessing that’s another reason you make it so trope-heavy.” He pointed his flashlight to one of the lights overhead. “Mind tucking away a generator next time?”

Natasha smiled sweetly.

Sharon, ahead of them, opened the door to the office and peeked inside. It looked like no one had touched it since they’d taken files out the day before, which she could appreciate. She’d half-feared that the place would be in some sort of poltergeist-esque disarray. And wow. This vacation wasn’t going the way she’d imagined, either. “Natasha, is everything in here, or are there papers left in the hospital?”

“Hospital,” Natasha repeated, not understanding right away. “You mean, like the administration papers?”

Sharon shrugged. “There are plenty of hospitals that close down and leave all the paperwork behind. Too many.”

Natasha pondered that as Sharon moved behind the desk and began opening drawers. “You know, I think so. I never went through them, so I can’t say if they’ll be of any use. And no one else has ever asked.” She watched Sharon as she worked. “What are you looking for?”

“Patient files,” Sam supplied. He watched Sharon closely. “You think the ghost might be one of the patients?” After a moment, he nodded slowly. “The bones. You think we might find something about a patient collecting bones.”

She grinned up at him. “At the very least.”

He looked down at her for a couple more seconds, then turned and started going through a cabinet. Most of the drawers were empty after they’d carried so many out the day before, though. “So, you and Steve...”

“Found it,” she said, pulling out a sheaf of papers. She glanced at Natasha. “This is all accurate, right?”

Natasha shrugged. “As far as I know.”

Frowning, Sharon spread the papers out on the desk. Sam and Natasha both wandered over, leaning over to read them.

“Establishment of the island colony, 1379,” Sam read aloud. “That’s... old.” He leaned closer, finally pulling the papers toward him. “Looks like the first colony all got wiped out in some kind of plague.”

“Prisoners brought here in 1424,” Sharon said, tapping some other papers. “Their punishment was to make the island inhabitable. They died of starvation before they could.”

“Actually, something tells me the point was that they’d die before they could,” Sam mused. In the silence that followed, he glanced at Natasha, who was watching them intently. “Don’t tell me you’re taking notes on what we’re doing right now.”

Natasha shrugged. “Habit. Also, what I get paid to do.”

Sam scowled at her. 

“The first thing actually built here was a monastery in the 1600s,” Natasha offered. By now, Sharon and Sam both understood that Natasha’s change of subject was intentional, an attempt to deflect from Sam’s anger. Sharon and Sam glanced at each other as Natasha continued. “They managed to build it and run it for several years - that’s where the tower in the hospital comes from, by the way - the monastery’s old belltower. Most of the monks were from wealthy families. They paid to have food brought in from Italy, but then there was a war, and the food couldn’t get through...”

Sharon stared at her, aghast. “They starved to death, too?”

“There’s a legend that says they resorted to cannibalism first, but yeah. Ultimately, they starved to death.”

Sam groaned and rubbed his temples. “This is a fucking death island.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. “What did you expect from a place that’s haunted? Contrary to what some people think, ghosts don’t tend to stick around because of how much fun they had in life.”

“So what about the prison?” Sharon asked, her finger going from paper to paper as she tried to locate more information.

Natasha pulled out a selection of papers and handed them over. “Built in the 1800s. They were better about getting food to the island, if only for the guards, but it wasn’t a priority.”

“What about during the wars?” Sam asked.

“The island was used for weapons stockpiling.”

“What about prisoners of war?” he pressed. “This would have been the perfect place for them if you wanted to quietly get rid of them.”

Natasha shrugged. “We couldn’t find anything concrete. Not even legends. A lot of the information about this place has been lost because it’s so out of the way.”

“Hm,” Sam said, sounding unconvinced. “There might be more in the hospital.” He looked to Sharon, who started gathering the papers they’d found

Sharon held the papers to her chest; Natasha handed her a bag, and she quickly shoved the papers inside. “Should we swing by and let the others know where we’re going?”

Sam studied Natasha for a second, and Natasha studied him right back. “Nah. We’ve got flashlights. We know what we’re looking for. We do it quick enough, we’ll be back before they even miss us.”

* * *

“Hate this fucking weather,” Bucky muttered as his feet sank into the mud. He slogged forward, the rain seeping through his clothes.

“Reminds me of that time we had those rain storms. Remember? When the hydrant broke and the city wouldn’t come by to fix it, and then the storms started and they said they’d fix it when the weather cleared up?”

“And the Reynolds’ apartment flooded,” Bucky chimed in. They were clear of the buildings now, and he could see the post that marked the stairwell.

“And Mom made you pull up the carpeting but wouldn’t let me help because my asthmas was so bad.” Steve grabbed the post and leaned over cautiously. He pulled back with an exhalation. “Okay,” he said, and Bucky smirked at the uncertainty in his voice.

“Want me to go first?”

Steve shook his head. “I was just thinking that I’d go first.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky asked. “Because if I were you, I’d be thinking about what a looooooong way down it is. And how _slippery_ the steps are.”

“You’re a goddamn ass, Buck.”

Bucky gave him a cheery salute. “Lead the way, _mon capitaine._ ”

Steve looked down the stairwell again and grunted. He could barely see the edge of the dock. There certainly wasn’t a boat waiting, but maybe if there was a canoe... Did they have canoes in Italy? Maybe a- a gondola. Or a raft.

God, this was insane.

But now that Natasha’s communicator was a brick, they had no way to alert people if they needed help, and things were getting more dangerous. They needed a back-up plan. They needed a way off the island.

Bucky leaned over to peer around him. “I won’t tell if you sit on your ass and scoot down.”

Steve gripped the safety railing and took a step down, carefully testing the step. Sure enough, the stone was wet and worn smooth by time. He almost slipped on the second step, and he stopped to take a breath and glare back at Bucky. “The fuck you won’t.” He went down a third step, then another. He could hear Bucky behind him, moving slowly and keeping a fair distance away.

There was no wind on this side of the island, but somehow Steve didn’t feel any warmer. Maybe it was his wet clothes, or maybe the atmosphere was finally getting to him. He shivered. “Is it just me, or is it getting colder?” he shouted back.

And then he felt hands shove him in the shoulder hard enough that he fell forward.

He heard Bucky shout his name. He tucked himself into a ball, grunting as his shoulder, his head, his back, his knees, hit stone after stone after stone. As the world spun, he saw the cliff wall rushing toward him as he neared the turn in the winding stairway. Instinctively, he covered his head.

He slammed into the cliff at full force and sprawled on the ground. He spread his limbs as wide as they would go to make sure he wouldn’t roll any more.

Bucky was soon next to him, trying to help him up. Steve tried to focus on what Bucky was saying, but he was dizzy, and his ears were ringing. It wasn’t until Bucky squeezed Steve’s wrist that Steve cried out, suddenly too, too aware of the pain in his arm. 

“I don’t know if it’s broken,” Bucky said grimly, “but that’s definitely not good.”

Steve shivered again.

And then, just like that, the bone-chilling cold was gone. His breath caught as he saw a figure watching up the stairs. It was male, wearing what looked like a soldier’s uniform. For a moment, he could have sworn - _sworn_ \- it was his dad. The figure started to turn back, enough that Steve could see it wasn’t his dad, and then faded from sight.

“Shit,” Bucky hissed, staring at where the figure had been. “Shit, shit, shit. Okay. Come on. Fuck the boat. We’ve got to- we’ve got to go, and we can’t stay here.”

Steve nodded grimly. If something was trying to hurt them, even kill them, the edge of a cliff wasn’t where they wanted to be. “How do you feel about butt-shimmying up?”

“I say we do it. And if we both do it, I _definitely_ won’t tell.”

Steve pushed himself up and grit his teeth as pain exploded in his arm. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“HA!” Tony shouted, pointing a finger at the new device he’d rigged up. Natasha’s phone was now a shadow of its former self, but he’d managed to use the screen and some other parts to create an entirely new machine. If he were being honest, he’d say it had a certain aesthetic. Which was entirely true. But aesthetics didn’t have to be good to count as aesthetics. 

“Now to reboot...” He hit the power button, waited, then messed with the touch screen. He leaned back as the screen went black. Soon, a large dot appeared in the center of the screen.

“Even look good as a dot,” he commended himself. He waved at himself on the screen with a crooked finger, thinking _Redrum, redrum,_ then stretched his arms. “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how we - I believe the term is - ‘make physics our bitch.'” He smirked, but the grin disappeared as two more dots appeared on the screen, followed by another, and then three more.

“Uh, guys?” He raised his head, only to realize that Steve and Bucky were gone. What the- Had they told him they were-

Oh. Oh, shit. Right. He remembered now. And they’d gone to check on the boat. Don’t separate, his ass.

Crap. Crap, crap, crap.

Tony leaned in toward the screen and felt a chill as he realized the dots were surrounding him.


	6. Chapter 6

“At first,” Sam mused as he poked around, “I was thinking, ‘How does the super-spy who’s spying on us not know for sure if there are any useful papers in the hospital?’ But I get it now. I get it.” His flashlight beam roved along the mess on the floor of what appeared to be a former office, a table with a chair across the room, both eaten by age and rot. There were books scattered on the floor, discolored by water damage and mold. Sam could see what looked like a ledge on the far side, but he didn’t like the prospect of walking over to get it.

Sharon picked through it carefully, trying to keep her fingers as clean as possible. “You guys didn’t try to go through this at all?” she asked, incredulous.

Natasha shrugged. “People’s medical files are private matters, Carter.”

Sharon stared at her.

Natasha smirked.

Sharon glared at her. “Get your ass down here and help me go through these. And while you’re doing that, you can tell me the truth.”

Natasha looked to Sam, then sighed and went to help Sharon. “Okay, fine. Bad habits. Yes, we’ve gone through what we could, but it’s hard to find everything. Things move, remember? And patient files move a _lot._ ”

“How many of them?” Sam asked.

She shrugged. “Depends.”

“Just one, though, or several?”

She tilted her head as she studied him. “Several. Each time.”

“Same ones?”

Natasha slowly shook her head.

“I don’t think they’re going to move this time,” Sharon said firmly. She pulled a file from deep beneath the refuse. It was water-logged and dripping. “Ugh. Remind me to take a scalding hot bath after this,” she said. She carefully prised open the folder, holding the flashlight close to the page.

Suddenly, she hissed and dropped the flashlight. As the flashlight rolled and settled, there was clearly the shadow of a hunched figure against the wall.

Sam cursed and sprang to Sharon’s side, his eyes on the wall as he searched for her flashlight with his free hand. Natasha, her fists raised, covered their backs and looked around the rest of the room. The shadow was gone, but there was still a chill in the air that hadn’t been there before.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sam murmured.

Natasha glanced at him. Before he could stop her, she’d bent and scooped up the file Sharon had been looking at, and then shoved her hand underneath the trash on the floor in one smooth motion, lifting some more and handing them to Sharon. “Let’s go.”

Sharon held the files carefully and shivered. Sam kept an arm around her as his flashlight searched the shadows. Together, they crept through the hall, jumping at the noises around them. By silent agreement, no one mentioned the rhythmic tapping they heard, even when it turned to knocks against doors and walls as they passed.

When the footsteps began following them, they looked at each other and instinctively sped up.

The footsteps sped up, too.

Sam spoke over his shoulder to Natasha. “Trick?” 

“Fuck no,” she snapped.

They walked as quickly as they could, the footsteps and the knocking growing louder all the way. By the time they broke through the front doors of the hospital, they were running, and the cold air and rain against their faces was like a slap. Natasha spun and closed the doors, pressing against them.

“You really think that’s going to work?” Sam demanded.

“I don’t know. But to have footsteps, it’s got to have some physical presence, right?” Instead of continuing to argue something neither she nor Sam believed, she looked to Sharon. “You okay?”

Sharon nodded. “I thought something pinched me.” She twisted to study the sleeve of her jacket, but nothing showed. “Still kind of hurts,” she muttered, a little worried. “Sam? Hold these?”

Sam didn’t bother hiding his revulsion at the sight of the files. “If I’m going to help administer first aid, I need to keep my hands as clean as possible.”

Sharon mock-glared at him as she tucked the files beside the door. “You could just say no.”

Sam did, however, help her roll up her sleeve, and he hissed when he saw the pattern of discoloration left on her upper arm.

“What is it?” Sharon asked.

“Uh...” He glanced at Natasha, who was leaning toward him and keeping the door closed with a foot. “If I had to guess? I’d say it looks like a bite mark.”

“ _What?_ ” Sharon demanded. “Somebody _bit_ me?”

Sam nodded grimly. After a moment, he carefully rolled down her sleeve.

“I’m gonna punch them,” Sharon said decisively.

Sam stared at her. “ _What?_ ”

“They bit me. So I’m gonna punch them.” Sharon turned to glare at the door.

Natasha laughed. “I, uh, don’t think they’ve got _that_ much physical presence. But I like your response.”

“Great. Teacher’s pet got an A from teacher,” Sam muttered.

Sharon elbowed him in the ribs. As soon as she opened her mouth to speak again, though, the doors at the hotel slammed open, and Stark ran out. He stumbled in the mud, his arms wheeling as he fought to keep the machinery he carried above the mud. Righting himself, he quickly held the machinery to his chest, hunching over them to keep them dry.

He spotted them and half-ran, half-waded over. “One - I _hate_ this weather. Two - You should all know that there are ghosts all over the island.”

“They’re definitely in the hospital,” Sam said, trying to sound cheerful and failing. “Hey, Stark. Did you know there’s been a crap-ton of cannibalism on the island? The acceptable amount of cannibalism is none, but we’re on an island that might have broken the record.”

“Great,” Stark said darkly, glaring at him. “I love that you can make jokes at a time like-”

“Where are Steve and Bucky?” Sharon asked, looking behind Stark.

Sam straightened. “Stark. Did you leave them in there?”

“No!” Stark shouted. “ _They_ left _me!_ I was working on a solution for all this, and when I looked up, they were gone!”

“Did they say where they went?” Sam asked urgently.

“Something about boats.”

“There!” Natasha exclaimed. She vaulted away from the door as a familiar blond head rose over the edge of the cliff. The others ran after her, reaching the stair just in time to see Bucky help Steve to his feet.

“What happened?” Sharon asked, staring at Steve as he held his arm to his chest and moved his fingers.

Color flooded Steve’s face. “I, uh-”

“He got pushed over by a ghost,” Bucky said. “Had to shimmy back up the stairs on his ass.”

Steve slapped his forehead with his good hand. “ _Bucky._ ”

Bucky shrugged. “You did, pal.”

“So did you,” Natasha pointed.

“Yeah, but we’re talking about him.”

“Let me see,” Sharon demanded, reaching for Steve’s hand.

She was intercepted by Sam, who gently took Steve’s hand and rolled up Steve’s sleeve with care. “Maybe someone who _also_ doesn’t have an injury should do this,” he suggested.

“It’s just a bite!”

“From a _ghost._ ”

“ _What?_ ” Steve, Bucky, and Stark stared at Sharon. 

She shrugged.

“I _do_ think we should get away from the cliff edge,” Bucky suggested. “Since the ghosts are getting push-happy.”

“And then Stark can tell us what he came up with,” Natasha suggested.

Steve immediately stepped toward Stark, ending up pulling Sam along. “You’ve got something?”

“Uh... kind of. I have a thing. And then I’ve got something that _could_ be something.”

“Show me.”

Stark looked around the plateau, at the rain and the mud. “I am _not_ letting this shit get wet.”

“So let’s get inside,” Steve said decisively. He paused to grit his teeth as Sam touched his arm. He hoped the rain made it harder for anyone to tell that his eyes were watering. He took a shaky breath and started leading the way to the hotel.

“That place is full of ghosts,” Stark protested.

“So’s the hospital,” Sharon said. “And one of those ghosts bite.”

Together, all of them looked silently to the third building, with its caved-in walls and the room with the collection of bones that mysteriously grew on its own.

“Hotel sounds good,” Stark said, leading the way. He paused, then jerked his head toward the hotel. “I’m not going in there alone, people!”

* * *

Inside, they sat in a tight group on the floor, huddled underneath towels and sheets. Stark’s device sat in the middle of the circle. On the screen, six blue dots stood in a circle, but beyond those dots were tens more, sometimes moving closer, sometimes moving around them, but undeniably there.

Sam took a breath, pulled his hands away from Steve’s arm, and shuddered. “Watch us come down with pneumonia on top of all of this.”

“And then resort to cannibalism to survive,” Sharon added with a lopsided grin. She held the splints against Steve’s arm steadily, waiting for Sam to wrap them.

Natasha snorted, but Sam glared at them. “You two are messed up.”

“Air Force,” Bucky muttered. “Humorless lightweights.”

Sam flipped him off.

“Okay,” Steve said, his voice firm. “Let’s look at what we know. We’re surrounded. They’re gaining strength. And they’re getting increasingly violent.” He looked Sharon’s arm; with no first aid kit available, she and Sam had wrapped it in a kitchen rag.

“And we need to figure out why it’s dark and raining all the time,” Sam suggested. “If I remember my horror movies, I’m guessing they’re recreating something. And we’d better hope it’s not one of their cannibalism nights.”

Now more of them looked at Sharon’s arm, and even though she didn’t look away from Steve’s arm, he could see her withdraw a little. He wanted to say something to bolster her confidence, but he didn’t know what to say.

“Makes sense,” Stark said slowly. “From what I know of ghosts and their repeat performances, they’re kind of stuck recreating the worst events they lived through.”

“And here I was hoping I was joking,” Sam muttered. He tied a knot in the piece of string they’d found and tested it, nodding to himself as it held.

“I don’t think all of them want to eat us,” Bucky said. “There was that one, the soldier. Remember, Steve? After you fell and it was so cold, and then he was there and everything got warmer.”

Steve nodded. “I remember. He turned to look back at us.”

As if on cue, the screen flickered. Stark leaned forward, but then jumped back at the tinny sound of big band music.

“The fuck is that?” he demanded.

The music stopped, and the screen was restored. This time, though, there were only six dots, arranged in a circle.

“It’s warmer,” Natasha noted.

Steve drew a slow, steady breath. “Looks like we’ve got an ally.”

They all stared at the screen in silence.

At length, Stark drew a breath. “Fat lot of good that does it.” He grabbed the device and held it up to show it to them, as if they hadn’t all just been staring at it a moment before. “This? Easy. I used electromagnetic waves. This?” He pulled a box closer. It looked like a toolbox. There was a spring pedal on the side to lift and lower the lid.

“Ghost box,” Bucky breathed.

Stark ignored him. “I can’t get it to work. I don’t know what it needs. I have an energy source inside, and I used some weak electro-magnetics to keep inside anything that’s inside, but we have to get them _into_ it first, and I have no idea how to do that.” He stared at the box as if it had personally betrayed him.

Sharon glared at the bandage on her arm. “I still say we kick at least one of them in the balls.” She turned to Stark. “Can you make that happen?”

Natasha smirked. “Geez, Carter. Did you get bitten by an anger-zombie?”

Sam’s focus snapped to her. “Are those things? If zombies are things, you have to tell me. Right now.”

“They’re not things,” Natasha said, her voice a little too patient.

Sam heaved a sigh of relief.

“Mostly.”

He focused on her again. 

“Wait,” Bucky interrupted. “Stark. _Can_ you make them real? Like- like you said that they’re taking your energy to become more active, and they’re pushing us and biting us. What happens if you up it?”

“Other than them killing us?” Sam demanded.

Stark’s gaze went slack as he considered. “I _think_ I could do it. It would take... a lot, though. I’d need to build another energy source.”

“What do you need?” Steve asked.

Stark started rattling off equipment. Sharon grabbed a pen and started scribbling on one of the folders as quickly as she could.

Steve kept his eye on Stark’s ghost detector. So far, it still only showed the six of them. “Okay,” he said when he realized Stark was done. “Groups of three. We get that stuff and regroup here.”

“And how about we all stick together this time,” Sam suggested. “No ass-shimmying.”

* * *

“What if we killed him?” Bucky stage-whispered. 

“Heard that,” Stark called as he tossed aside another plastic cover to get to the wiring inside. He’d already gone through the microwave and a coffee pot - Sharon had been especially grumpy about that - and five alarm clocks. Although everyone had brought him as many appliances, pieces of metal, wire, and tubing they could find, they’d still had to endure a lecture from Stark on how the things they brought him didn’t match the things on his list. Only a death glare from Natasha had convinced him to get to work, but no one was feeling particularly charitable toward him. “I’d just come back as a ghost and kick your ass.”

He raised his head with a grin, saw their flat - and in some cases, near-murderous - expressions, and looked back to the equipment on the table. Whatever he was doing, it was starting to take shape. It looked like an oversized battery. “Okay. Or not. Guess I should finish this.”

“At least he didn’t get the oven,” Steve muttered. He stood in front of the oven, his arms crossed, suspecting he was the only one there who realized they had to last until the end of the week.

Stark made a sound deep in his throat and connected a wire. The battery started to glow, and the others went silent as ghostly blue forms manifested around them. Each human-like form was looking at Stark and the battery. Not noticing, Stark grunted and disconnected the wire. The forms faded out of sight.

“Uh, Stark?” Sam asked. 

“What.”

“Did you- did you just-”

“No,” Stark said grouchily. “ _This_ should do it.” He secured the wire in another place.

As if he had switched on a light, the battery glow, and the human-like forms burst back into sight. They grew thicker, their features growing more pronounced. 

“There,” Stark said proudly, finally lifting his head to beam at them. “Now we should see- Whoa.”

“Yeah,” Sam said nervously.

“There are-”

“Yeah,” Sam repeated.

“I’m better than I thought I was.”

“Ye-” Sam stopped and glared at him. “Man, just open the box!”

Stark reached out with a leg and hit the pedal, throwing the toolbox open. A ghostly blue light emitted from the inside, appearing much like the ghosts had. Only now, the ghosts were solid and looking almost human. Many of them were dressed in rags, either those of prisoners’ uniforms or of patients’ uniforms. Others were dressed as soldiers, doctors, and there was even a monk.

“Test time,” Natasha said firmly. Without any more warning, she kicked one toward the box. Her foot connected, and the ghost, now so energized it was almost completely solid, stumbled toward it. As soon as its hand hit the light from the box, it became more translucent, more shapeless, quickly turning into a bright blue fog, stretched as it was pulled into the box like a drink spilling over the edge of a table.

There was a moment of silence as the six looked at each other.

“Huh.” Natasha nodded to Stark. “That’ll do.” She grabbed the next ghost that was nearest to her. This ghost, though, grabbed back.

Another ghost grabbed Sam around the throat; Bucky punched it in the face, and Sam rubbed his throat. “Looks like the figured it out.” He grabbed the ghost Bucky had punched and threw it across the room toward the box. It was solid enough it could no longer go through the wall and instead fell back. It landed near the box, its head being caught in the light, and within seconds, it was gone.

“Tell me that looked badass.”

Bucky snorted. “It didn’t make you look as weak as you usually do.”

Sam rolled his eyes and ducked a ghosts punch before punching the ghost in the gut. “You Army guys are assholes.”

“Hey!” Steve hit a ghost with his shoulder, mindful of his injured hand. “Don’t lump all of us together just because you Air Force asshats are weak.”

On his way to punch another ghost, Bucky gave him a high five. 

Steve looked around to check how the others were doing. Natasha was hitting, kicking, and throwing ghosts toward the box with ruthless efficiency. Stark looked like he was boxing them toward the box. Sharon was wielding a broom as if it were alternately a baseball bat or a staff. Bucky and Sam were punching ghost after ghost after ghost.

It didn’t take long to notice, though, that the ghosts were getting more solid, heavier. Stark was the first to take a hit - the ones not being drawn toward the battery seemed mostly focused on him. Steve fought his way over to have Stark’s back as a peal of thunder shook the building. 

One of the ghosts, one of the monks, lifted a chair over his head and brought it crashing down toward Sharon. Natasha kicked him in the groin, and Steve could see that it took both Natasha and Sharon to move the ghost toward the box.

“Not a very holy guy,” Sharon said, wiping her forehead. She grinned at Natasha, who grinned back, and then Sharon lifted her arm and punched a prisoner in the nose. Natasha kicked the man over the box.

“We need a change of plan!” Sam shouted.

“Just don’t let them attack that box!” Stark shouted back.

Steve turned and saw why Stark was concerned. Three of the prisoners were drawing closer to the box, keeping low so they didn’t get sucked into it. “How many more are there?”

Stark checked the device, shuddered, and tossed it to Steve. “Don’t drop it!”

Steve caught it and glared. “How do I zoom out?” Behind him, Sam took a punch to the chin and was caught by Bucky, who took the lead on fighting while Sam recovered.

With an irritated sigh, Stark spun and pinched the screen. “ _Obviously,_ ” he said, before turning to try and hit another ghost. By now, they were completely indistinguishable from actual people unless they were near the box.

Steve glanced at the screen and took a breath. Bad. Bad, bad, bad. Nearly the entire island was covered in blue dots, most of them focused around the building. He frowned as he watched a dot disappear. The dot next to it wandered to another dot, and after a few seconds, that one disappeared, too. He sucked his lower hip between his teeth. What the hell did that mean? How were the ghosts outside disappearing?

“Steve!” Bucky shouted. “I’ve got an idea!”

“Go for it,” Steve shouted.

Bucky dove toward the box, fighting off one of the ghosts about to grab it, and lifted the box in the air. He turned it onto the side, the light catched ghost after ghost after ghost. Each one disappeared.

It wasn’t long before they were alone in the room, and they stared at each other as they got their breath back.

“Not how I designed it,” Stark said slowly, “but I’ll allow it.”

Two more ghosts, patients, walked in through the door. Bucky turned to the box toward them.

“There are more outside,” Steve told him. “Sam, cover him.”

Sam rubbed his chin. “What about you?”

“Gonna check something out. Natasha, with me. Stark, stay with Sharon.” He didn’t wait to see what they did, instead running past Sam and Bucky.

Behind him, Stark looked at Sharon. “Help me with this thing,” he directed her, lifting the battery. “It’ll draw them in. Moths to a flame. They’ll want the power from it.”

Natasha shifted her weight as Sharon moved to help. Upon seeing that the two of them had it, she ran after Steve. Most of the way was clear; Bucky was sweeping the box around different rooms, and the ghosts were too solid now to pass through walls and attack him from behind. She winked at him as she went by. Outside the main doors, she had to fight her way through the crowd. By the time she broke through, Bucky was slowing turning the box from side to side, taking out row after row of ghosts, pulling them all into the box.

She found Steve around the corner of the building, talking to a man dressed as a World War II soldier. Steve gripped the man’s shoulder as they talked. When he saw Natasha, he murmured something more and then trotted over.

“I don’t think he’s like the others,” he said. “Bucky was right. He protected us earlier. Multiple times, I think. He doesn’t deserve to be trapped in a box. And I think he convinced some of the ghosts to leave on his own. I- I think he should have the choice of leaving on his own.” He hesitated. “I, uh, I also suggested he stay if he wants to keep protecting people.”

Natasha raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t have permission to do that.”

“You didn’t have permission to piss me off by lying to me and my friend for days, but here we are.”

Natasha grinned.

Suddenly, the rain stopped, and they were blinking in the warm sunlight. They looked around, blinking. Walking back around the corner, they saw Bucky lowering the box. “Does that mean I got them all?” he called.

Steve glanced back at the ghost of the soldier, then back to Bucky. “Good enough for me,” he called back.

Fury stepped out of the hospital, Hill at his elbow. There were more men and women dressed in dark uniforms moving around, guns and flashlights drawn. “Where the hell have you been?” he demanded. He strode toward Natasha, then stopped as he took in her sodden clothes and hair. He glanced at the rest of them, at the box in Bucky’s hand, and the battery held between Sharon and Stark. “I take it you found the sleep study interesting.”

“Fuck you.” To make sure Fury understood, Bucky changed his grip on the box so he could flip Fury off.

Fury smirked and turned to Natasha. “I think you have something to tell me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so proud of myself yesterday because I was a day ahead, had almost the whole day to write, and I'd have time to edit everything after.
> 
> And then I woke up today, looked at my calendar, and realized I was supposed to post this yesterday.
> 
> So yes. I didn't have time to edit. I apologize for typos. I hope there aren't many, and that there aren't plot holes, etc. There's still one chapter left, but it's unlikely to be as long, so I hope to have it up tomorrow night!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue, or so they say.

_Agent Romanoff tells me you exceeded expectations._

Fury’s voice echoed in Steve’s mind. The more sensible part of his brain argued that Steve had never known what the expectations were. That none of them had been told. They’d been lied to, led around by the nose, tricked. They’d been hurt, they could have been killed.

But he knew why he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Throughout his visit to the hospital to get his arm set properly, to going to work after, to spending his evenings with an unusually quiet Bucky, he knew why he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

_You passed the test and then some._

He stood in the park, shuffling his feet as he looked at the nondescript office building across the street. It was four stories tall, gray, with reflective windows. He suspected they were watching him right now. Hell, they might have people in the park itself, monitoring everyone who came and went.

_You want a job that surpasses all the others you applied for, does more good than all the ones you applied for, you show up. This address. This time._

He’d looked up shadowy government organizations online when he’d gotten home. Most of them tied into aliens and assassinations and cover-ups. Nothing about ghost.

He hadn’t been able to find anything about a Director Fury, or a Maria Hill, or Natasha Romanoff. If he signed up for this - not that he was thinking about it, not really - would anyone be able to find anything about him? What would he have to give up?

But he was smart enough to know that if he was here, half an hour before his appointment, he already suspected that whatever he had to give up, it would be worth it.

“Steve!”

He jumped and spun, causing Sam to jump back.

Sam waited until he was sure it was safe, then chuckled. “Jumpy, huh? Me, too.” He held up a small scrap of paper, similar to the one Steve had gotten from Fury. “You?”

Steve held up his.

After a moment of silence, Sam slipped his paper back into his pocket. “You going up?”

Steve swallowed. “I think so.”

Sam looked at him, and something about it struck Steve as said. “That’s not gonna be enough to get you in there, man. You in or you out?”

Steve took a deep, steadying breath. “In.”

Together, they walked across the street and were greeted by a woman behind the desk. They showed her the scraps of paper in their pockets, and they were waved toward the elevator. “Fourth floor.”

As they stood in the elevator, Sam half-turned to Steve. “This is a stupid-ass idea, isn’t it.”

“Yeah.”

Sam sighed. “I’m a black man. I should be too smart for this shit.”

Steve didn’t disagree.

The elevator didn’t stop on the way to the fourth floor, and the doors opened into a bland, boring hallway with gray linoleum and gray walls. They looked at each other and stepped out, then looked around. The hallway was lit, but all but one of the offices were dark. They glanced at each other again, and then Steve took the lead, Sam silently covering his back.

Steve relaxed when he got closer. Through the glass, he could see familiar blonde hair that he hadn’t been thinking of at all in the past couple weeks (he had been thinking about it, actually) and someone else in an expensive gray suit. He turned to Sam, wanting to ask if he looked okay, if his hair was okay, but then he realized how that sounded and quickly went into the room.

And saw Bucky sitting in a chair against the opposite wall. The two of them stared at each other, both feeling like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Steve stammered out.

“I, uh. I wasn’t planning on coming. I mean, I was thinking about it, but I didn’t know for sure, so I didn’t say anything.”

“Well, _I_ , for one,” Stark cut in, “knew I was coming. I mean, what are they going to do without me?”

Sharon sighed. Realizing they were looking at her, she glanced between them. “Oh! Uh. I didn’t think I was coming. But Hawley - she works for the agency and keeps an eye out for recruits, aparently - she’s the one who convinced me to go to Italy. Anyway, she convinced me to come. Said I was meant for more than being a nurse. And I agree with her.” She lowered her eyes on the last part, but she still spoke with conviction.

“Confidence,” a familiar voice said. They all turned to see Natasha. “I like it. Even made a note in my report saying that we needed to make sure you had more of it.”

Fury pointedly cleared his throat.

Natasha grinned at him. “They already came. They’re in. Which means you owe me money, boss.”

Fury grumbled. “If _I_ can talk.” It wasn’t a request. “I’ve read Romanoff’s report and character assessments of each of you, and I agree with her recommendations. As such, any of you who agree to it will be put on a team together.”

“A team for what, sir?” Steve asked politely. “Finding Bigfoot?”

Fury ignored the hint of sarcasm. “You’ll be a specialized team of sorts. Handling the threats that we think will prove too challenging to others. Supposed demonic possessions, certain hauntings, some types of aliens.”

“Are we even qualified?” Sam asked. 

Fury glanced at Natasha. “You are now. Your handling of the situation on the island showed potential.” Natasha rolled her eyes and smirked at the others, and Fury pretended not to notice and continued. “You’ll need more training, sure, but we’re here to teach. So who’s _officially_ in?” He looked at Natasha as he stressed the word.

Sharon’s hand shot up. Evidently remembering the discussion back on the island, she added, “Me!”

Stark merely nodded. “And me. So long as you pay for my private jet and all call me Tony.”

Fury glowered at him. “As far as I’m concerned, you can fly coach.”

“Or in the baggage compartment,” Bucky said cheerfully. He looked at Natasha long enough that things started to get uncomfortable for everyone but Natasha, who only met his gaze impaccably. “I’m in.”

There was no way Steve could let Bucky do this without him. “In.”

Sam shrugged. “Someone’s got to stick around and tell you all when you’re being idiots. I guess that’s gotta be me.”

“And I’m in, too, sir. Of course.” Natasha smiled sweetly.

Fury handed a folder to Steve. “I’m appointing you team leader. Natasha is your SHIELD liaison - that’s Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Directorate. She’ll tell you more, set you up with the necessary paperwork. Stark, you’re their tech guy. Carter, support and medical. Barnes, I hear you’ve got sharpshooting in your history. Time to pull that out of your ass. Wilson, help Carter with medical, and we’ll set you up with what you used to do, too. Speaking of - Stark, I’ll give you the designs you’ll need. What am I missing?”

Sharon started to raise her hand, caught herself, and then asked, “Sir? How did things turn out on the island?”

He nodded. “Good. The place now has a protective ghost.” He turned an appreciative eye toward Steve. “Not a bad idea, Rogers.” Evidently, Fury was not a man of high praise.

“Your first mission is in Oregon. People have been dropping contact, but we’ve gotten a few transmissions of people supposedly speaking in tongues before they disappear. Romanoff will tell you more. Now go. And don’t come back until you’re done.”

* * *

“I swear,” Hill swore. “I’m throwing the next person who microwaves fish in here over a cliff. Understood?”

Around her, she got nods that ranged from serious to indulgent. Barton in particular didn’t look as if he cared, but it would be difficult for him to seem like he cared since he was the reason for the threat and he was still eating his fish filet. She glared at him as she sat across from him.

Suddenly, Barton shivered and looked behind him.

“What?” Hill asked, impatient.

Barton frowned. “A chill. And I could have sworn I felt-” He broke off, looking troubled, and it took Hill kicking him under the table for him to say, “I thought a felt a hand, okay? On my neck.”

She rolled her eyes. “They caught all the ghosts. The only one left is a friendly.”

Barton rubbed the back of his neck and grumbled. “Yeah, well, maybe they missed one.”

“I checked the diagnostics before we moved in. Trust me. Nothing’s here.”

He didn’t seem convinced, but he was obviously already convincing himself he’d imagined it. He took another bite of his filet. “Keep being mean to me, and I’ll heat up more fish, Hill.”

She glowered at him over the table. “Try it and I’ll shoot you.”

“Mmm... I feel like heating up some snapper. Sounds like it would be delicious. Right, Hill?”

As they two continued threatening each other, a chill gathered in the hospital basement nearby, unchecked and unnoticed by the agents that settled in to make the island their home.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh! And before I forget - I aim to post a chapter every three days. So the next chapter will be up Monday, and we'll draw this story to a close on or close to Halloween. Hope you enjoy it!


End file.
